Too Far Gone
by fanastikal
Summary: A dark sequel that picks up basically where the movie ends.  A very troubled Balthazar just wants to be left alone, but as is the usual in such cases, that's when everyone, and I do mean everyone, wants you.  Adult themes and situations; not too graphic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Here I go again! This is another possible sequel to the movie, but has a very different take on the story than _Caned & Disabled_, so in no way are they meant to go together. I think Balthazar and Dave are my only two constants in both; everyone else is expendable in one way or another. I tend to get down approaching the Christmas holidays and especially Winter, and I think this story reflects that, which is probably the last thing I needed right now, but there ya go. I think I write quite humorously a lot of the time, but I can never label anything as a comedy, because it's never the main focus, since I'm pretty dark and deranged, overall. This is done, though I think it has kind of an abrupt ending, and is 9 chapters, all between 2000 and 4000 words; it's just a matter of how fast I post it before I call it complete.

**Disclaimer: **I'm only doing this once, for this story, since I'm tired of trying to be clever, so get out the megaphone: I do NOT own anything recognizable from _Sorcerer's Apprentice (2010)_. I've owned my OC Druid, for years, and Nephrene and Grigory are kinda up for grabs, because they are original, but are being used completely in the context of this movie that I don't own. Druid's just there to suck it up, so to speak, so he's less of a conflict. And I say I don't write comedy.

* * *

><p><strong>Too Far Gone<strong>

"You forgot to set the wards again, Balthazar," the dark haired man smiled, strolling casually into a back room of the turnaround where the object of his scolding lay in a cot-like twin bed. The blond was on his left side, head on a pillow, and bundled under a comforter.

"I didn't forget, Maxim," he responded dully. "No one is here of any importance."

"David?" He was looked at quizzically, "Come now, Balthazar; you certainly haven't released the Prime Merlinean mere hours after your victory."

"_Hours_?" He raised his eyes to the digital clock on the nightstand: **8:19 PM**:Less than 24 hours ago. "He was out celebrating, last I know."

"And you, and I presume Veronica, are _not_?" Horvath asked warily, and the blond's eyes flashed strangely:

"Obviously." He managed half a laugh as he found a gun pointed at him, "Oh, _really_, Maxim?"

"Fragmented bullets, Balthazar—"

"Fragmented _brain_, Maxim," he sneered. "I could've melted that thing before you had it pointed, but you're amusing me." He pushed aside the covers, and the man was surprised to see him still fully dressed, down to the trenchcoat and lace-up shoes. "I take it you need help finding your cane?"

"You're feverish, Balthazar—" he noted, now, as the flushed, damp-haired man unsteadily got to his feet.

"You beat the _shit_ out of me, Maxim," he snarled now. "What do you expect?"

"That Veronica would heal you."

"Of course you'd think that," he realized, rubbing his face briefly with trembling hands. "Are the police gone?" he asked now, looking straight at the man.

"They left before dark."

"How do you know they didn't find the cane?"

"Once it's out of my possession, it becomes invisible." Balthazar hummed at that, somewhat amused. He limped to the kitchen, into a cabinet, and pulled out an unsullied bottle of Jack Daniels. Breaking the seal, he opened the bottle and downed about a quarter of it before holding it out, but Horvath shook his head.

"Always the proper gentleman," he smiled, capping the bottle and putting it away. He winced suddenly, as if the pain of his injuries had just hit him, and moved out of the kitchen. "Stay behind me," he said hoarsely. "Especially if you must keep that gun out." It was pressed against his back, now.

"Balthazar!" Dave called out, now, rushing down the stairs, seeing his master looking around the corner of the wall. The gun lowered, and Horvath put it away.

"Dave!" he called back enthusiastically, fully around the corner, now, staggering back slightly as the boy rushed into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"I'm so glad you're okay . . . I got so caught up in Becky that I just left, and I figured that you and Veronica wanted to be alone, anyway, so . . . I really hope you're not mad at me."

"I'm fine, Dave," he assured, moving his apprentice an arm's length away and grasping his shoulders, looking at him strangely. "Are you going to be around a while?" Dave nodded, "Because I have an errand to run with an old acquaintance." Balthazar dropped his hands and motioned around the corner. "C'mon out, Maxim." The boy's mouth dropped to the floor as Horvath appeared next to his master:

"Hello, David." No one was surprised when he couldn't answer.

"I'll be back in a little while," he said. "It's fine, Dave, really," he assured, clasping his hands on his shoulders again: _Can you hear me?_

_ What's going on? Where's Veronica?_

_ Check your Encantus, and make sure you set the wards. _He couldn't say more; Horvath was waiting. "C'mon, Maxim; let's go find your cane."

"You're gonna help him find his cane?" Dave shrieked now.

"Yes, David," he emphasized, now. "Veronica wants me to, and you need to have your ring back, as well."

"Fine . . . okay . . . great. " Balthazar rolled his eyes as Horvath followed him out the door. Stutler watched the Phantom leave with a sickening feeling in his stomach, and then went to set some wards. They were very basic, as he hadn't really been taught how, but knew the fundamentals. And, he could always look it up in the Encantus, since he had to read that anyway. Obviously, he must be missing some of the most current info if Veronica was nowhere to be seen, and Horvath was around, but he was not at all prepared for what he found.

* * *

><p>"Veronica wants you to help me find my cane?" Balthazar managed a tight smile as he drove. He really could've told Dave everything; as long as he had mentioned something about Veronica, that's all Horvath would focus on.<p>

"She's always believed you'd come back to us; you know that, Maxim." His eyes darkened: "Her hope is probably all that's kept me from killing you."

"Maybe knowing that I'd hurt her has kept me from killing you," the man conceded, nodding. His voice lowered, "What would we do without her?" Balthazar nearly lost control of the car at that, but Horvath was too busy pondering to pay attention.

* * *

><p>"Is that a gun in your coat, or are you just happy to see me?" the blond grinned now, as they passed by the destroyed fountain and made their way further into the park. His whole body was tingling slightly, and his ring was glowing, right hand being pulled by some invisible force.<p>

"Is Merlin's ring calling you?" Horvath wondered, noticing the odd goings on, and ignoring the question.

"It would come to me, but it's being held back by your _friends_' castors." Balthazar thought a moment, "You know, you're only getting _your_ cane back; not all the extraneous jewelry."

"Of course," he knew. "But you'll still need me to help remove them; you're outnumbered."

"As usual," Balthazar rolled his eyes. He had donned his hat for this little outing, and he angled it down slightly with his left hand, the right still being pulled forward. And he felt like they were being watched, as well, though he couldn't get a reading since his senses were being enveloped by the dragon ring. Crouching down suddenly, he felt in the grass with his left hand, and the cane reappeared as soon as he touched it.

"Back to the turnaround," Horvath ordered as he stood back up, twirling the cane, but he shook his head:

"Uh-uh. Dave's there." The darker man sighed:

"Fine. The penthouse, then."

* * *

><p>"Balthazar, that is <em>not <em>a baton!" Horvath fumed when they were almost to the Phantom. "Stop that incessant twirling this instant!"

"_Why_?" he challenged, even as he ceased. "Gonna _shoot_ me?"

"So help me God, I will—"

"That's a funny thing to hear you say," the blond huffed as they entered the car, tossing the hat behind the seat, the barrel of the gun instantly against his left temple, the right side of his head smacking the window as Horvath pushed. "Ouch."

"Give me the cane this instant."

"Are you _really _that stupid tonight, Maxim?" he wondered, the cane between the seat and the door. "I jammed _both_ guns right after you pointed _one_ at me." He faced the man as the weapon retreated, "Kickbacks are a _bitch_, Maxim."

"I didn't pull the trigger, Balthazar," he defended himself quietly.

"Luckily for you," he snapped, finally starting the car. "Are we going to the penthouse, or _not_?" he demanded, now, the other nodding silently. "Fine." He opened the passenger window and nodded towards the other, and Horvath threw both the guns out onto the street. They melted as they hit the blacktop, becoming two silver puddles as the window went up again. "Are your minions still alive?" he wondered now.

"I don't know, Balthazar."

"I'm not looking forward to getting jumped by all three of you."

"I haven't checked on them."

"That means absolutely nothing but the usual, which is that you don't give a shit."

"They probably won't want to help me, either; now would they, Balthazar?"

"Oh, I'm sure you could _make_ them, Maxim."

"I suppose I could," he grinned, now. "We'll see."

* * *

><p>The Phantom was in a spot next to the parking garage's penthouse elevators, and they were quiet on the way up, finally sitting at the black kitchen table in the all-black kitchen.<p>

"Imagine that," Balthazar smirked as they both hovered the cane. "Us working together again." It was parallel to the table, tilting slightly side-to-side, and the dragon ring was drawn to the Merlinean, slowly sliding down until it dropped off the edge. Balthazar caught it in his left hand, shoving it in a pocket in his coat. The other two slipped off easily after that, and the blond caught those, as well. And then he moved his right hand away, finally giving Horvath full control of his castor.

"You'd best leave, now, Balthazar," the man said darkly as he started to get up.

"I want to know if your minions are still alive—"

"Why do you care?" he spat.

"Spoken like a true Morganian," he shrugged. "It'll take less time if you just tell me where they are—"

"It'll take even less time if you just get the fuck out of here like I told you to," the man ordered now, face red. "You've humiliated me enough for one day."

"Who came looking for who?" the blond hissed now. "And with guns drawn, no less."

"Drake's on his bed, and Abigail's in the closet." And the door slammed and locked behind Balthazar as he entered Drake's bedroom.

"Terrific," he sighed, rolling his eyes for possibly the hundredth time this evening. The room was pitch-dark and cold, like an extravagant meat locker, all its power obviously disconnected by Horvath from the rest of the apartment. Balthazar's magic couldn't even repair it, though it did manage to light a bunch of red candles scattered about. He peered at Drake, sprawled, face-up, on the king-sized bed: Alive, but unconscious. The closet was almost as wide as the bed, and barely three feet in front of it, and he listened carefully for any sound: Nothing. Holding his breath, he slowly pushed aside the folding door. And got tackled by a 15-year-old.

"Grab him!" Abigail screamed, as she shoved him back into Drake. "Grab his right hand!"

"It's not Horvath," Drake protested, one hand holding a damp cloth over the man's face, the other twisting his right wrist behind him, all the while yanking him back further onto the bed, Abigail on top and pummeling him with small fists.

"He's _worse_! He's the one who locked me in the Grimhold!" They were weak, no doubt, but they were also incredibly desperate, and Drake's hand held out longer than Balthazar's breath, the older sorcerer finally slumping against the illusionist.

Pains shooting through his right hand and wrist were what finally woke him up, like they had tried to cut his ring off, and failed, because he knew it was still there, even if it was caked with dried blood. That's what it felt like, anyway, he not able to see it, as the entire arm was twisted oddly behind him, he laying on it in the middle of the bed, the Morganians laying on either side of him, guarding, no doubt, if they were even awake. His left arm was pinned to his side by ties around his waist, and his socked feet were crossed and tied at the ankles. The damp cloth that had been over his face was tied loosely around his neck, the fumes from it making him dizzy. His chain was gone, and so were his vest, armwarmers, undershirts and most importantly, his trenchcoat. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he lifted his head slightly to look for the items, but his vision dimmed immediately. Abigail was awake instantly at the movement, her left hand wrapping around his throat just enough to be threatening.

"Why did you come here?" she demanded.

"I came to the bedroom to see if you and Drake were alive—"

"Why do you care?"

"It's a nasty Merlinean trait." He paused, watching her cold eyes. "Horvath frowned on my interest, so he locked me in."

"You could've escaped."

"Not my intention at the time."

"Wait a minute," Drake said suddenly, he and Abigail now bookending the Merlinean, leaning on their elbows on their sides, staring down at him. "Why were you with Horvath in the first place?"

"I helped him get his cane back, but he had extra castors on it, and we had to work together to get them off."

"Extra castors?" Drake quizzed, now.

"You were helping him with The Rising; do you remember that?"

"Yes."

"The cane castor wasn't strong enough to free Morgana from the Grimhold," he tried to patiently explain. "So he stole yours, yours," he looked at Abigail, "and Dave's."

"And he let Morgana out?"

"Yes—"

"But The Rising obviously failed, or we wouldn't be dealing with _you_," the girl sneered now in an unhappy realization.

"So the Prime Merlinean fulfilled his destiny?" Drake concluded.

"Yes."

"But what does that have to do with Horvath's cane?"

"Dave blasted the cane away from Horvath, and he was powerless, of course, without it."

"So he came to the bleeding heart for help, and here you are, waiting to die, like the rest of us." Leave it to Abigail to be blunt.

"Not exactly," he half-smiled, surprising them both. "I _do_ still have _my_ ring, as you so eloquently pointed out, though you've done your damnedest to make sure I can't use it."

"Her idea," Drake pointed out sheepishly.

"No _shit_?" he questioned with heavy sarcasm. "But, my point is, you two _are_ dying, thanks to Horvath, but I _do_ have your rings, so hopefully that can be prevented."

"You do _not_ have our rings," Abigail snarled now, left hand somewhat tighter around his throat. "We checked."

"Is that why I've obviously been strip-searched?" he accused, now, his black dress-shirt only half buttoned.

"Her idea," Drake pointed out again.

"Naturally," he glared at him, Abigail giggling. "They're in the trenchcoat."

"_Liar_," she spat, now.

"I know you heard it rattling." Balthazar smiled widely, now, and she paled. "Do you think I would make it so easy?" She was up instantly to get it, but his voice stopped her, "_Shit_. Horvath's coming."

"What do we do now?" Drake asked fearfully.

"We're all unconscious, or we're all dead. You should've freed my hand, but now it's going to be difficult," he knew as the girl flopped back on the bed next to him, her hand back around his throat.

* * *

><p>"Well, well, well," Horvath smiled broadly, staring down at the three moments later, the room now ridiculously bright. "Nice little orgy we've got going here . . . Let's make it official; shall we?" He touched the glowing tip of his cane to both Drake and Abigail, giving a silent command. "If I get bored later, I might even bring Veronica into the mix." A pause, "You know, Balthazar, David's on his way here, also . . . Won't he be horrified to see you being ravaged by two dying Morganians?" Another pause, "Too bad you're too weak to stop them," he finished, pressing the glowing jewel against his former friend's crotch. Snickering to himself, Horvath literally killed the lights again before leaving, the door once again sealed shut.<p>

"C'mon you two," Balthazar whispered urgently as soon as Horvath was gone, his blood icy in his veins. "If you have your rings back, you might be able to fight the spell."

"What spell?" Drake asked groggily, slowly sitting up to find the older man eyeing him desperately.

"_Please_ get my trenchcoat."

"Whatever you say, luv." Oh Christ, was it starting already? Abigail's _fifteen_, for crying out loud! How could his bonds be so tight? Oh yeah, the _illusionist_ was probably an expert at tying himself up, and therefore anyone else, as well, and Horvath might've enchanted them also, though he thankfully hadn't voiced it aloud. Balthazar's right wrist was threatening to break, his ring jammed awkwardly into his back, and his left arm wouldn't budge. He tried flicking his finger, but even that wasn't working. "Here ya go, luv," Drake smiled, covering him from the neck down with the coat before climbing on top of it, reaching his hand down. "You like the feel of leather, don't cha, luv?" he asked, now, pushing the material hard against Balthazar's crotch, and the man's heart sank. At least Abigail wasn't awake, yet. As repulsive as this all was, the worst part was knowing they could die at any time from the exertion, while only being scant feet from their rings.


	2. Chapter 2

David Stutler was crying. He'd been crying since about a half hour after his master had left, and he hadn't been able to stop. Even when he looked like he wasn't actually in tears, he was. He'd followed them to Battery Park, and then gone back to the turnaround when he was sure they'd be coming back, but then they hadn't, which nearly sent him into frenzy. Was that why the two former friends were really together? Were they united in grief? Balthazar hadn't shown a thing; just given him a few odd looks. Horvath had looked basically the same, except for an anxiousness that comes with not having your castor. Did Horvath not know? There was no way he couldn't know! And, David felt horrible, selfish, greedy, and who knows what else. '_I'm fine, Dave.' 'Check your Encantus, Dave.'_ There was no way in hell Balthazar could be _fine_. And there was no way in hell Horvath could know; he was certainly not the kind of guy who hid his feelings. Not like Balthazar; nobody could hide feelings like Balthazar. If nothing else had proved it, this certainly did. And, David just couldn't see Balthazar telling Horvath. If he'd really loved her, he'd know she was gone, instead of just blithely going along with the same old resentments and hatreds. Balthazar had too much to deal with as it was; the last thing he would need is an emotional barrage from Horvath. Besides, did anybody bother to read, anymore? Horvath had an Encantus, just like every other sorcerer. If Balthazar told him at all, it would probably be like that, on his way out the door: _'Oh, by the way, Maxim, have you bothered to read your Encantus lately? Some very interesting developments, there.' _ He'd wink at the Morganian on his way out. Horvath and all the other Morganians had always believed losing her would finish him, but he'd prove them all wrong. That's what Balthazar was doing right now; proving them all wrong, before they even knew just _what_ was wrong. David knew he should probably be calling Becky about this, but suddenly, horribly, Becky didn't seem important, anymore. He'd left Balthazar for Becky a day ago, but now he would leave Becky for Balthazar. And what would calling some silly girl like it was small town gossip accomplish, anyway? He needed to _act_, not talk; he needed to act like Balthazar. He needed to find Balthazar, and most of all he need to _be with_ Balthazar. So he headed for the most logical place: Drake Stone's penthouse.

Stutler wasn't crying when he exited the elevator; he wasn't going to give any more away than his master was. Horvath opened the door before he could think of what he wanted to do; and he realized in shock that he didn't have his ring as he eyed the cane.

"It's about time you came for him," the man complained, looking utterly bored. "He, Drake, and Abigail have been going at it for at least an hour, now." He pointed down the hall, "Just follow the moans."

"Help me, Dave," the man gasped painfully as soon as he entered the cold, dark room, and the door slammed and locked shut. "I know how bad this looks, but you have to trust me . . . Please." Of course it looked bad, but Balthazar was a Merlinean engulfed by two Morganians, and there were tears streaming down Stutler's face again. "_Please_."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Find my coat; it has all three rings. I hope it fell off the bed by now." Well, it was half off, and the boy tugged until it was in his grossed out hands:

"Ew." Balthazar nearly laughed.

"It's not me," he confessed. "Horvath's not letting me come, yet—"

"_What_?"

"He's got a bunch of spells going; I think he's going to try some new thing on me, but enough: Find your ring, and then find theirs—"

"Enough of this!" The voice was lovely, and furious, and all too familiar to Balthazar, and he turned in shock to see Veronica standing right next to Dave, and his eyes filled.

"_Balthazar_," he whispered urgently. "You know that's not—"

"I know," he whispered back as Dave, Drake, and Abigail were violently flung out of the room, the boy still clutching the trenchcoat. The door locked again, and Veronica smiled as her dress disintegrated. It was probably Horvath, but it could've been a poisonous snake, or a scorpion, or a panther, and the blond wouldn't've cared, as long as it could make him _think_ it was her.

"_Baltazar_," she breathed in her heavily accented voice as she climbed on top of him, and his bonds fell away instantly as he enveloped her in his arms. It was a beautiful illusion until he came, and then it became a complete nightmare, the jewel of Horvath's cane pulsing against his ring as wave after wave of orgasms flooded over him and everything else.

"It's a more sophisticated version of the parasite spell," Horvath explained gleefully as he pinned the helpless blond down. "The heightened energy of orgasm makes for an exquisite power surge; don't you think?" Balthazar's eyes were glazing over, and Horvath's words were echoing tenfold. The room was spinning, and he could barely breathe, much less answer. "Damn," the man growled suddenly, as the door burst open, three sorcerers literally flying back into the room.

"The _cane_!" Stutler screamed, grabbing it as the three tackled Horvath. "Get him out of here!" he ordered, Abigail and Drake nearly fully restored as they complied, the room suddenly too quiet as the door slammed again. Balthazar's ring had gone nearly white, as had the rest of him, including his eyes, and Dave leaned over his still form, whispering: "Please don't hate me for doing this." Holding the limp hand carefully in his own, he pressed the jewel of the cane as firmly as possible against the faded green diamond of Balthazar's ring. Almost instantly, energy started to pulse between the two, and Balthazar's body began to jerk spasmodically. Deathly afraid of giving him too little, Stutler inadvertently gave him too much, a fact he realized when the man's left arm went airborne, coming down violently on a mirrored nightstand, and smashing it to nothing. The arm was cut badly, but Balthazar didn't even react as blood ran down into the sheets; he was out cold, if wheezing somewhat from the labored breathing he'd been doing for the last hour or so. Dave magically cleaned the trenchcoat and wrapped the badly damaged arm in a thick towel before replacing the vest, chain, and shoes back on the injured sorcerer, and straightening out what was barely still on him. He placed the cane and the rest of the clothes in the coat before donning it carefully. It was a bit big, so he magically shrunk it before carefully carrying the larger man in both arms, cradling him down to the Phantom. "Balthazar," he would whisper every so often, just to say it, but secretly hoping the man would answer, as well. "Balthazar . . . Balthazar . . . Balthazar . . ."

"Stop saying that, Dave," the man found himself whispering before he even knew he was awake, and his startled apprentice jerked the Phantom to the side of the road, shutting the engine off and facing him fully, grabbing his shoulders, saying his name again. "I thought I just told you to cut it out," he scolded through cloudy eyes.

"Talk to me," the boy pleaded, practically shaking him in desperation.

"My arm is killing me, so stop shaking me."

"I could take you to the Emergency—"

"I'm not dying, David," he managed, slightly shaking his head. "You don't ever do that unless I'm actually dying; do you hear me?"

"But, you _were_ dying before," the boy countered, tears spilling down his face as he continued to study him. "Your eyes, and your ring, turned white, _stark white_—"

"Are they white now?" he interrupted quietly.

"No, but I don't trust it."

"Trust it, David . . . Trust _yourself_, David, for once. You reversed the spell, and I'm not dying. Case closed."

"Then don't say your arm is _killing_ you, right after you've _been_ dying—"

"Fine," he snapped, still quiet. Quiet was all he was going to be capable of for a while, but it's not like he was a yeller, anyway. "My arm hurts like hell, and I wish to chop it off to make the pain go away, but it's _not_ killing me."

"Okay, then, Balthazar," the boy finally managed a relieved smile, pecking the man's hot forehead. "I'll take you back to the turnaround." He leaned the man back against his side before starting the car, and the injured sorcerer almost immediately fell back to sleep.

"You drive too slow, Dave," he mumbled some time later, the pain engulfing his arm keeping him from being completely out, despite his utter state of exhaustion.

"We're almost there," he tried to appease the man squinting out the window, left hand up to push unruly hair back from the pained expression.

"How much traffic can there be at dawn?"

"I can't afford a ticket—"

"Oh, yes you can," he smiled wickedly, now, straightening up, touching the steering wheel with his right hand, and flooring the gas pedal. Stutler gaped in horror at his insane master as the car seemed to pass into another dimension, lights blurring around them in the way spaceships in the _Star Wars_ movies went into lightspeed. And, suddenly, they were parked in front of the turnaround, the passenger door already slamming shut as the boy tried to catch his breath, only to lose it again when he heard Balthazar fall.

"_Shit_," they both said at the exact same time, the man reaching his right arm up to be helped, stunned as Stutler scooped him completely and easily up off the ground, carrying him down the stairs and deep into the turnaround.

"Been working out?" he chided as he was carefully laid on the right side of the full-sized bed, Dave immediately untying and removing the shoes.

"Hardly."

"If I recall, you mentioned something to Rebecca about cardio-boxing the other day."

"Well . . ." _Wards_, they both realized at the same time, the boy rushing out of the room to rectify the situation. " . . . Becky's a lot easier to lie to," he finally finished. He'd turned his cell phone off before leaving for the penthouse, and he wondered if he'd ever turn it back on again. Stopping briefly in the bathroom for a few supplies, he laid a pile of towels on the pillow next to the man, who obediently stretched his wounded arm out over it. "What a mess," Stutler despaired as he unwrapped the blood-soaked towel. "It's almost twice its normal size."

"Because it's full of mirror," the man knew, gritting his teeth.

"Is there a numbing spell?"

"Not any that I can think of that are helpful," he puzzled, managing to struggle to a sitting position against the wall. "But I can check. Give me the Encantus and my reading glasses, and in the meantime we can use a bucket and ice." The reading glasses were in the coat, and were handed over first, and Balthazar immediately started laughing:

"_What_?" The man held up a finger, as he couldn't stop enough yet to answer, then pointed towards the lab. "Fine," Dave sighed. "I'll get the Encantus, the bucket, and the ice, first, and then you'd better tell me what's so damn funny." Balthazar nodded, laughing so hard that his stomach started to hurt. Stutler was actually quite heartened to see the man so jolly so soon; he just wished to be in on the joke.

"You shrunk the coat to fit you; right?" the man managed, still chuckling as the boy came back in, Encantus on lap, left arm gently placed in bucket.

"I had to, if it was ever going to fit." And sure enough, the boy took it the wrong way, "Look, I had to wear it; okay? I couldn't carry _you_, and _it_, and everything—"

"I don't care that you're wearing the coat, Dave," he admonished him, now, shaking his head. "Just look, _look_ at the damn glasses," he emphasized, starting to laugh again, as the boy carefully took them, studying how small they were.

"Oh, _shit_," he finally realized, mortified and amused at the same time. "When I shrunk the coat, I shrunk everything in it!"

"Not a big deal at all," the man beamed, motioning for the glasses, shaking them out to normal size before putting them on. "But infinitely amusing." He opened the Encantus, now, flipping several sections at a time, all business again: "The ice, Dave."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Tink Tink Tink Tink Tink Tink<em>**

They each held a pair of tweezers, the room light and the nightstand lamp on, the lamp focused right in the ravaged arm, which was currently various shades of gray, but at least it wasn't bleeding as much.

"This is really disgusting," Stutler couldn't help but comment as he dropped another shard of mirror into a small basin.

"Get used to it, Dave," Balthazar advised, sitting cross-legged before the pillow, leaning awkwardly to pick at his own arm. "Sorcerers do a lot of their own treatments, especially when you get to the more _unusual_ injuries, like from fighting dragons, and hellhounds, and all that. Doctors these days can usually tell if you're lying to them about what attacked you, and then you can end up in a psychiatric ward." He threw a few shards in in quick succession. "It's not usually worth the effort unless you're actively dying."

"You could've gone in for this, though," Dave countered. "You had a seizure, and smashed a nightstand—"

"Then they'd hold me for days trying to figure out _why _I had the seizure, not to mention all the tests they would do." A strategic pause as he rolled his eyes: "'My apprentice regenerated my energy back into my electrical conductor for too long, and I blew out a circuit.'" He twirled a finger next to his temple, "_Cuckoo_!" They were both chuckling, now. "There was no way for you to know how long to hold that charge on me," he knew, concerned the boy would feel responsible.

"I didn't think there was," he nodded. "I was more afraid of not doing enough, than doing too much. I wanted to make sure that you were _all there_." He shook his head now, "And then I was _terrified_ when that seizure happened, like I caused brain damage, or something. That's why I was all over you when you woke up in the car."

"The seizure was an obvious warning sign to stop; as long as you did that, I'm fine."

**_Tink Tink Tink Tink Tink Tink_ **

* * *

><p>"Have you ever played that game <em>Operation<em>?" Dave wondered suddenly. "'Cause this is a lot like that."

"I've heard of it, yes, but I can't say I've played it," the man nodded in amusement, recalling. "That's been around since at least the 1970s." He held a flashlight, shining it as deep into the arm as he could. "Right there," he pointed with the beam, Stutler in for the grab. "**BZZZZ**!"

"_Not funny_, Balthazar!" he managed after jumping about a foot in the air, the man roaring with laughter:

"That was _way_ too easy, Dave!" The boy was trembling, now, so he found the piece himself, still chuckling as he tossed it in the basin. "If we don't get it all, the swelling won't go down for ages." They both went up and down the entire forearm with the intense beam before finally concluding that there was nothing more to be removed, and then Balthazar had Dave pour more rubbing alcohol over it, dripping the excess into the latest towel. Once that was done, the man showed the boy how to close the wound with magic, just barely pressing the skin's edges together so that it would knit itself together. To be on the safe side, since he wasn't the best healer in the world, Balthazar rubbed first-aid cream deeply into the line that was left, and bandaged the arm securely with gauze and tape. If he hadn't knit the edges together right, and holes developed, he'd see it through the bandages, especially if he were to overstress the arm for the first few days.

"It'll bleed through; right?" Dave figured.

"Of course," he answered, looking at him strangely.

"Well, you're a sorcerer; maybe different sorcerers would have different things come out, like plants—"

"A _vine_ growing out of a hole in my arm?" he asked skeptically, the boy nodding. "We're still fairly normal, Dave . . . It's still skin, bones, muscle, and veins—"

"And mirror, if we've missed any . . . Are you feeling more _reflective_ than usual, Balthazar?" he asked with an obvious grin.

"Ah," he understood, now, catching the joke. "Not really, Dave, and . . ."

"And?"

"When was the last time you slept?" he wondered, now, eyeing the boy suspiciously.

"Uh . . . " He honestly had no idea.

"That's what I thought." Balthazar got up slowly, now, gathering up all the bloody towels.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to throw these in that industrial machine next to that bathroom, and I want you to get rid of the basin, and the bucket, and the first aid nonsense, and then we'll go to bed." He paused, looking at the boy, "Something wrong?" A thought, as it was daytime, though exactly what day he wasn't sure right now, nor did he care. "Do you have class?"

"I don't even care if I have class, being that I can't remember the last time that I slept, but . . ."

"But?"

"You want me to stay here? With you?"

"I don't want you traveling, to your apartment, or to Rebecca's, if you haven't slept, but there are other beds in here, if you feel awkward." He shuffled out of the room with the towels. "I'm exhausted, too, Dave."

"Do you want to talk—"

"Not now," he said from the hall. "Christ, Dave, not _now_."

"If you don't want to be alone, I'll sleep in the bed with you," he offered hopefully, finally gathering the things to be put away.

"_Fuck_!"

"What is it?"

"My clothes are _covered_ in blood!"

"And that _surprises_ you?" Stutler quizzed, the medical supplies put away. Balthazar was standing in front of the full-length mirror in the large bathroom, and he honestly looked ready to cry. "Look," the boy offered, standing behind him and pulling the stained vest off. "You can magic this, right, since it can't be washed?" He draped it over a pipe as the man nodded slightly. "And of course this is a mess," he continued, turning the man towards him and unbuttoning the black shirt without even thinking. "You were wearing it when you had the seizure!" He lifted the man's arm slightly to unbutton the right cuff before pulling the shirt back off of him carefully, draping it over another pipe. "We definitely can't wash that with the towels," he reasoned, then froze briefly as he realized the man was bare-chested. "Jesus, I'm still wearing your coat," he realized. "Don't we make the pair?" And then a real question, "Why _two_ undershirts?"

"I'd settle for _one_ right now." He stared down as Stutler pulled them out of the coat, and smirked.

"How about two halfs?" he joked, this time fully aware that he had shrunk everything, and both sorcerers cracked up, even as they were yanked from his hands and shaken out to their full size. The base one was a thin black silk wide crewneck with short sleeves, and the other was a heavier silk Henley with long sleeves.

"And you're one to ask about layers, Dave," he grumped now. "What does my coat make? Six? Seven?"

"Well, I would think blood would be the _least_ of your concerns, after the night you've had," he shot back, now, instantly grossing both of them out:

"I hate you, David."


	3. Chapter 3

Balthazar was in the shower, now, furious and furiously scrubbing himself clean before finally calming and letting the steaming water soothe his battered, bruised body, holding onto the showerhead to keep from falling over. He stayed like that for the longest time, until the water finally started to go lukewarm, and then he shut off the stream and wrapped himself in a bathsheet.

"I thought I told you to go to bed."

"I don't know which bed to go to," Dave said quietly, sitting next to the man on a wooden bench. "Do you want to sleep alone?" he asked unsurely. "If you don't want to sleep alone, I'll sleep with you—I mean in the bed with you." As he spoke, he had his master's left arm in his hands, carefully unwrapping the wet bandage. "So far, so good," he smiled.

"It's only been like an hour, Dave," he said in annoyance, drying the arm better as the boy went for the cream, new gauze and tape, watching as he applied all with great care. "I didn't think I'd be sleeping alone at this stage," he said quietly now. "So, no, I'd rather not sleep alone, at least this day." He nudged the boy's shoulder playfully, now, "Since you're here, anyway."

"I'll meet you there, then," Stutler smiled, leaving the bathroom with the man's dirty, but washable, clothes. He moved the towels to the dryer, and threw the other load in the washer, then disappeared down the hall. Balthazar stood, squeezing the rest of the water out of his hair before tossing the towel aside and combing the knots out, and then he dressed for bed in black silk boxers and an oversized black thermal henley. The overly bright room light was still on when he got back to the makeshift bedroom, so he shut that off before getting in the bed on the same side he occupied before. Stutler showed up almost immediately after, bearing two mugs of warm milk, and they sat up in the bed and slowly drank them down while leaning on each other, the nightstand lamp dimmed to the glow of a nightlight. Dave's layers were down to a short-sleeve tee over a long-sleeve tee, and plaid boxers, and he found himself peeking under the covers to see what he had missed. "Compared to what we usually wear, we're both fairly naked," he concluded, Balthazar moving both their empty mugs to his lightless nightstand, and laying down fully.

"Goodnight, Dave," he hinted harshly, grabbing the cloth at the boy's shoulder and pulling him down to a laying position. He turned carefully onto his left side to face the boy, making sure he was truly reclined, and found himself engulfed in a hug, skinny legs entangling his own under the covers, as well. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but he was frankly too tired to care, hands resting on the young back, the chin on his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Balthazar," was whispered close to his ear, now, the voice full of emotion. And he fell asleep with the boy's face buried in his hair.

* * *

><p>"Balthazar, listen to me, please . . ." but Veronica's voice trailed off as he held her more tightly, refusing to believe that she was going to leave him again. "You've done everything right, beloved . . . Everything. You couldn't have known this was going to happen." She grasped his chin, forcing his head up so that she looked into his flooded eyes, making them meet her melting chocolate ones. It was so hard to look at her, now, as he could see her starting to disintegrate. "I didn't know either." And he kissed her again, desperately hard, a crushing ache enveloping his heart. "Nobody knew," she finished in a breathless whisper before finally kissing him back. They didn't have enough time to make love; they didn't have enough time for anything, and it was going to kill him. "I hate what this world has done to us," she cried softly, finally dropping her stoic cover. "I love you so much." They had both sunk to their knees, now, as if by becoming smaller they could hide from their cruel fate. "I don't want to be without you, Balthazar." He couldn't speak, or he'd just end up screaming; he just kept clutching her, and kissing her, clinging to her until there was nothing left to cling to. The last thing he felt was her hands pulling through his hair, and then she was gone, ripped away from him once more, and he started shaking violently, clutching at his aching chest, his breaths wheezing and erratic as he sobbed in near hysteria, sinking from his knees fully onto the setted street just outside the park. The driver's door of the Phantom was open as it patiently waited for him, but he couldn't move until the sirens were mere blocks away, and then he literally crawled into the car and collapsed across the bench seat as it started, the door closing silently behind him. Balthazar didn't remember anything after that until nearly a day later as Horvath entered the unguarded turnaround.<p>

"Do you know what happened to her, exactly?" Stutler asked nearly 12 hours after they'd gone to sleep, somewhere around one in the morning, and he was gallantly trying to make Balthazar some breakfast. He'd awoken to find the man sitting at the kitchen table, absentmindedly drinking straight from the bottle of Jack Daniels, and he'd indignantly capped the bottle and replaced it in the cabinet before making the man some coffee. To his complete and utter shock, his master hadn't protested, though he had mentioned starting the bottle when Horvath had arrived, and the only other thing that had been in his stomach in two days was the warm milk. Dave had eaten crepes with Becky in France less than 24 hours before, but didn't even want to think about that, much less mention it. Balthazar had taken about two sips of coffee before monosyllabically recounting his last minutes with Veronica, and the boy had stopped scrambling eggs to turn his full attention to him, not wanting to miss one detail, since he doubted the story would ever be told again.

"Exactly?" Balthazar echoed, looking up from his mug, Stutler nodding. "Exactly; no," he admitted thoughtfully. "But, probably Morgana . . . They were trapped together so long . . . some kind of sabotage, most likely . . ." He shook his head, eyes boring back into the coffee. "It doesn't really matter; does it?" he said more to the coffee than to the boy. "That kind of situation . . . everything about it was one of a kind." He finished the rest of the coffee, and stood up angrily. Dave was back to scrambling eggs until Balthazar's mug smashed against a far stone wall of the kitchen: "At least I don't have to stare at that damned necklace for the rest of my life." And then he was roaring at his apprentice as the boy gaped at him: "Don't you have anything better to do than to watch an _old man_ fall apart?" His eyes narrowed, "Why is your cell phone off?" And more to the point, "Why are you suddenly avoiding Rebecca?"

"If you know all that, then you should know the rest," Dave snapped back, now. "I thought you were a _little more important_ than Becky." The understatement of the year.

"Importance is relative, Dave," he said quietly, blinking hard as he composed himself. "I don't need any more coffee, and all I want is that damned liquor, so I'm going back to bed." He was barely out of the room when a frustrated Stutler went to hurl the bowl of six raw eggs and milk at the same wall the man's mug had splintered against, but the mess had barely left his hands when the bowl recaught the mix and sailed into the suddenly open refrigerator, the door silently closing. Stunned, the boy turned back to the wall as he heard a tinkling sound, the innumerable shards of the mug piling up, knitting themselves back together like a ridiculously intricate puzzle. Once it was whole again, the mug flew back onto the counter, right next to the coffee maker, and Dave couldn't resist, picking it up carefully, examining it: _Perfect_, he concluded, seriously impressed, before putting it back down.

"I'm setting a lousy example," Balthazar said by way of apology as his apprentice appeared in the bed next to him, they on their sides under the covers and facing each other.

"Hardly," Dave countered. "And," he pointed out, "I'm 20 years old; not five. I know when you're wrong, and when you're right." He smiled, "And your magic is flawless."

"Repairing a mug I shouldn't have thrown in the first place isn't flawless."

"You didn't throw it in front of Horvath," the boy protested. "You threw it in front of me; someone you can trust, who won't hold it against you." A pause as he was regarded, "I'd like to see how many mugs Horvath would throw in your situation—"

"Horvath would be throwing them at _me_ at about a hundred miles per hour," Balthazar knew. "Throwing them at a wall is a waste, when you can hurt someone, instead. I'm hardly in a hurry for him to find out."

"Well, Drake and Abigail respect you, now that you've given back their castors that Horvath stole which, of course, saved their lives. Not to mention that they ended up fully aware what Horvath made them do to you; the spell didn't break until they put their castors back on. Abigail _really_ hates him for that one, and Drake actually seemed disappointed that it wasn't real—"

"Naturally," he half-laughed, recalling how quickly the spell had taken over the illusionist.

"_Plus_," he added, "and I don't know if you'll recall, his cane's in your coat, though it's probably the size of a butter knife right now." He beamed as the man's eyes seemed to light up. "I don't think we'll have to worry about Horvath for _quite_ a while."

"Thank you, David," he said quietly, sincerely, and the boy inched just a bit closer to him, softly, carefully touching his wounded arm, running his fingers down over the sleeve.

"It's not really swollen, anymore," he concluded. "How does it feel?"

"A little achy, is all," was the answer, eyes slowly fluttering shut. "Nothing major." He barely reacted as the long, cool fingers slid past the sleeve, grasping his overly warm hand.

"Still injured enough to hold a fever?" he wondered, his other hand laying a cool palm against the hot forehead.

"Too many bruises and such," Balthazar admitted sleepily. "The arm isn't really the issue." The hand on his forehead moved to his right, pushing hair back from his face. "What are you doing, Dave?" he wondered, still not opening his eyes.

"I want to hold you again—"

"_Hold_?" he puzzled, then realized: "Oh, _hug_." The boy was closer now, the cooler aura nicely refreshing as legs entwined his again, slender arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him onto the boy's shoulder, his own hands at the small of the young back. "Goodnight, Dave," he said softly, already almost completely out.

"Goodnight, Balthazar," he whispered back, kissing the man's temple tenderly. Balthazar's eyes flew open at that, but he was too far gone, and way too comfortable, and his eyes shut again almost immediately, finally sinking into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>"Does he know how you feel about him?" Becky asked pointedly as she and Stutler sat at the kitchen table, eating the scrambled eggs he'd attempted to make for his master earlier. She'd practically broken into the turnaround, fearing the worst after not hearing from him in two days, and Bennet confirming that he hadn't been back to their apartment, either. Dave looked stricken at her words, but that only made her smile: "You'd better be in love with him, since you've completely shut out your whole world to be with him."<p>

"There's been more trouble with Horvath," he pointed out, the girl shuddering as she remembered her kidnappers, "as well as Drake and Abigail. _And_," he added, "Balthazar's true love, Veronica?"

"The one he wanted you to give that necklace to?" she recalled as he nodded.

"She died right after he gave her the necklace," Stutler said slowly in a hoarse whisper, and Becky's mouth hung open. "He's devastated, to say the least. So," he finished, "I thought dealing with all that was more important . . . Sorry."

"Dealing with 'all that' is more important because you're in love with him," she said narrowly. "Even when you thought he was with his girlfriend when we were in France, you were all guilty about leaving them, because they were weakened and vulnerable."

"It was a shitty thing to do," he conceded, "and he's not even holding it against me. I don't think Veronica lasted five minutes after we left."

"Will there be a funeral?" she wondered, now, truly saddened, although she never met the woman.

"I don't think so," he shook his head. "I don't think there's a body, and sorcerers do things differently, regardless." A pause, "It's a very strange situation."

"It won't be in the newspapers, because Veronica hadn't been in open society since the ninth century," Balthazar said suddenly, appearing in the kitchen as they both jumped, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway, fully dressed and looking disapprovingly at his apprentice. "And this is how you dress in polite company?"

"I wasn't that polite," Becky said shakily. "I practically broke in."

"After the Jack Daniels again?" the boy retorted sharply, trying to cover his embarrassment.

"It would probably be better for me to just finish the bottle and be done with it; yes."

"It wasn't a serious question—"

"No," the man knew. "It was an attempt to divert attention from your state of undress, as well as imply that I've turned into some kind of alcoholic." He turned a gentler gaze to the slack-jawed girl, "You're still polite company, Rebecca; after all, he _has_ been avoiding you."

"It's not just me," she knew. "It's everything . . . everything but you."

"Why are you two talking about me like I'm not here?" Stutler demanded in exasperation.

"Because you're not _supposed_ to be here, David," Balthazar said pointedly. "You're supposed to be getting dressed."

"If you want to talk to Becky alone, just say so." The man massaged his temples in frustration.

"Just . . . get _dressed_, David."

"Getting dressed takes about 30 seconds, Balthazar," he protested.

"Then you should've done it _sooner_," he snapped out, now, the boy finally leaving the kitchen, brushing against the man still standing in the doorway, although there was plenty of room to pass:

"Call me when you're done talking about me."

"When was the last time you ate?" the girl asked once they were alone, not really waiting for an answer, already into the refrigerator.

"I thought David made that clear: I no longer eat, I just drink Jack Daniels."

"I _really_ hope you're kidding." She was a much faster cook than Stutler, already turning four eggs, milk, cheese, and ham into an omelet in a sizable frying pan.

"I usually do my own cooking," he said quietly as he watched her.

"According to Dave, you've done your own _everything _for over a thousand years. That must be _exhausting_." He smiled wanly:

"You've no idea." Finally moving from the doorway, he went for the coffee maker, filling the mug he'd reincarnated, silently vowing not to drink any until he'd eaten some of what she was working on, and he sat at the table.

"How are you holding up?" Becky asked carefully, sliding the omelet onto a plate next to the stove, setting that and a fork in front of him, moving the ketchup and salt closer to him before sitting to his right.

"Thank you," Balthazar smiled, and his hand trembled as it lifted the fork.

"Eat really slowly, if you've really been drinking that much," she advised. "Dave said he's afraid to leave you alone."

"That doesn't explain him turning off his cell phone."

"You've both been sleeping a lot," was the shrugged answer.

"Maybe," he supposed, only on his second mouthful. The girl was right; he felt like throwing up, and he swallowed hard.

"Slower," she emphasized, watching his face. "Let it settle." He put the fork down. "May I be blunt?"

"It's not like I could feel any worse," he nodded, rooting himself to the chair.

"I honestly think Dave's . . ." Becky stopped suddenly: She really didn't want to be the one to make the man throw up, but he was eyeing her suspiciously at the pregnant pause. "I honestly think Dave's falling in love with you, though he's refusing to admit it," she said quickly, and if the man hadn't been paying rapt attention, he might've not caught it all. But he had, and he swallowed again, trembling slightly.

"That's preposterous," he rasped out finally. "He's had an almost singular fixation on you for the last ten years."

"When you weren't around," she noted. "And look how easily he's suddenly dropped it; even you said he's been avoiding me."

"You weren't around, either," he pointed out, picking up the fork and taking a careful bite, and the girl was amused at the way anger and denial seemed to settle his stomach.

"_He_ transferred; _not me_." Balthazar blinked, now.

"What day is it?" he asked suddenly.

"Tuesday." She continued as he looked at her quizzically, "March 2nd." He looked up at the clock: 11:55. "AM," she volunteered, and he managed to smile at her.

"Does he have any classes?" and she was pulling a schedule out of her purse, eyeing it carefully.

"From 1:30 'til almost nine, actually."

"Perfect," he enthused, reaching for his wallet. "Would you do me a favor?"

"You want him out of your hair?"

"Literally," he shuddered, handing over $500 in cash. "Take him to dinner, lunch, a hotel, shopping; whatever you want. Don't romance him if you don't still want him; just get him to act his age and forget about the 'old man' for a while. And don't let him come back here to spend the night, again." She seemed hesitant, and his heart started to sink, "What's the matter?"

"I've told you how I think he feels about you," Becky said quietly, and Balthazar nodded in understanding:

"Go on."

"Do you have any idea at all how you feel about him?"

"I can't even begin to _think_ what to say to that," he confessed. "I've been in love with Veronica for 1300 years, and she's just _gone_." Feeling sick again suddenly, he unsteadily got up from the chair, practically falling into the girl's arms as she stood to give him a hug.

"I'm _so_ sorry about Veronica, Balthazar," Becky said softly into his shirt, his arms wrapping around her upper back.

"Don't be sorry; just keep him away from me for a while." His lips brushed the top of her hair, and she started giggling, then turned serious as she looked up at him.

"And what will you be doing?" she asked, deeply concerned.

"I'm planning on spending the day alone, finishing that one lousy bottle of liquor, throwing up, and sleeping." Her eyes widened, and he grinned weakly, "Not all at the same time, of course."

* * *

><p>"You're throwing me out of my own turnaround?" Stutler roared minutes later. Becky winced as she watched Balthazar's reaction: That was definitely <em>not<em> what he needed to hear right now.

"I've given Rebecca 500 dollars to amuse you in any way she sees fit," he hissed back. "Do I need to give you rent money, as well?" he demanded. "Or would you prefer that I just disappear altogether?" The sorcerer's voice went hollow at the question, and he was no longer standing in the kitchen with the two youngsters, who immediately panicked.

"Apologize right now, Dave," Becky ordered sternly, the boy practically in tears.

"Just go, both of you," the disembodied voice ordered. "And, Dave?"

"Yeah?" he sniffled, looking wildly around.

"Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out." Becky started laughing at that, grabbing Stutler's arm and all but dragging him out of the turnaround.


	4. Chapter 4

Balthazar leaned against the door as he set the wards, watching the couple until they were out of sight. He was already tightly clutching the neck of the open bottle, and he stood on the second level catwalk, leaning way forward on the railing, and the Merlin Circle flared up in purple flames as he stared down at it. "_Veronica_," he whispered, tears streaming down his face.

He was back in the kitchen some time later, filling the empty bottle with water to rinse it for recycling, when a thought struck him, so he finished filling the bottle, and then started drinking it dry again. It was not as bad as he thought it would be.

_Possessed by Morgana during the recitation of The Rising Spell, Veronica Gorloisen was at last separated from Morgana by her longtime love, Balthazar Blake, who performed the Fusion Spell to rip Morgana's soul from Veronica's body into his own. But Morgana was too powerful for the already-weakened sorcerer to hold her, and she escaped of her own accord to attack her three present foes: Gorloisen, Blake, and David Stutler. Stutler was revealed to be The Prime Merlinean when he deflected a devastating fire spell without his ring. Gorloisen was injured in the fight that ensued, and Blake took a fatal blow while defending his love. Using his formidable physics skills, Stutler finally defeated Morgana with a combination of electricity and plasma, then managed to revive the deceased Blake. Finally reunited with Gorloisen, Blake was able to gift her the betrothal necklace he had bought her 1300 years before, but then the unthinkable happened: Severely weakened from her time in the Grimhold fused to the malevolent Morgana, Gorloisen realized she was dying, barely managing to say goodbye to the devastated Blake before she vanished. It is unclear at this time whether Blake will continue Stutler's training, as he has gone into seclusion. The Merlinean Order mourns the loss of this most selfless of Merlin's apprentices, and extends deepest sympathy to Balthazar Blake, the sole remaining Merlin apprentice._

Balthazar stared at the passage in Dave's Encantus for the longest time. It wasn't the last passage, by now, but it was certainly the most heart-wrenching. When he was finally able to tear his bleary eyes away, it was to go back to the kitchen to fill the bottle, one last time, with water. By now, the water was probably overriding the alcohol's ability to make him drunk, but then again, he'd never been a teetotaler, despite his love for actual tea, and even coffee, for that matter, and he was much too old to get drunk that easily, regardless. He'd built up one heck of a tolerance in fifteen centuries, and that was just one of the reasons why Stutler's snide remarks about Jack Daniels had peeved him. "Here's to sympathy," he hissed before finishing the bottle for the last time, tossing it in the recycle bucket under the counter, certainly not needing to rinse it, _again_. He wondered what the Morganian Encantus had to say about the matter, although he had a good idea: _'He's weak, and vulnerable; go get him, boys!'_

Almost as if answering his thoughts, a harsh knocking came at the door, and Balthazar was tempted to ignore it: _Can't you read? I'm in seclusion! _Dave had pissed him off with the 'MY turnaround' nonsense, but the sorcerer had already known that he couldn't make this any kind of permanent residence: He'd just been counting on the fact that he'd be making the transition to a permanent home with Veronica. After Horvath and Drake had broken in and attacked him, any illusions of this place being a secret were shattered, and realistically, they shouldn't even train here. That knock on the door could be absolutely anybody, since the turnaround was now common knowledge, both for its purpose, and its address.

"_Nephrene_?" She was a Morganian healer; an oxymoron if ever there was one, since a weak or injured Morganian was basically a dead Morganian. She'd heal a Merlinean just enough for them to serve a Morganian purpose, so she definitely wasn't a good omen, and he wasn't in any hurry to open the door.

"How good of the most eligible bachelor to remember me; I'm flattered, Balthazar." _Oh, is that how the Morganian Encantus is referring to me?_

"Interesting reference, Nephrene, but I'm actually the most eligible _Merlinean _bachelor, so that kind of leaves you out of the equation." And another reason to keep the door shut. She was a beautiful girl, no doubt, with her crystal eyes, long white hair, pale skin, and full lips, but she was also a complete snake.

"Don't sell yourself short; the Morganians would love to have you." _On a platter, maybe._

"I think Horvath would disagree with that."

"Horvath's not a woman."

"I don't sell myself _that_ short; I've been around too long for that."

"Ah yes," she realized. "The orgy with Drake and Abigail; a very flamboyant young man, and a 15-year old Puritan. You certainly ran the gamut that night." She leaned closer to the door, "Want me to check you for STDs?"

"No; thank you."

"Want me to check _them_?" she sneered now.

"That's up to them," he shrugged, then asked the question burning his brain: "Does Horvath know I'm a bachelor?"

"I don't think so; he's been busy trying to keep those two from killing him, especially since his castor's gone missing." She smiled widely at the man, "You don't have anything to do with that; do you?"

"_Me_?" he asked innocently. "Nah. I was just there for the sex, of course."

"Of course." Balthazar shook his head, as if to clear it:

"I'm not ready to start dating, yet, Nephrene, so if you're just here to check on my status—"

"Hardly," she interrupted. "You're being designed on, and by someone bigger than Horvath." A pause, "You've lost your reward, so we were hoping you might be open to—"

"Veronica was _not_ a reward," he snapped, suddenly vehement. "I wasn't a terrorist, doing my deed to get a pile of virgins."

"You did everything right, and you got nothing in return."

"Hardly," he protested. "I'm not turning into a Morganian because being a Merlinean didn't get me what I thought I wanted, so forget that angle," he said flatly.

"It would be so much simpler if you just came along." Finally, a direct threat; a direct threat that deserved a direct answer:

"No." He was squinting past her now, trying to see if she was really alone. "What the hell do you want?" he asked roughly, now, not feeling anyone else around.

"You'll find out soon enough, when we _take_ you." She tapped a white fingernail on the glass: "Next time you see me, we won't have anything between us." He watched as she turned away from the door, laughing: "I advise you to brush up on your Latin, Balthazar." _Latin?_

* * *

><p>Latin, as far as modern times went, meant basically three things to Balthazar: Medical terms, legal terms, and The Rising, which was full of its mumbo jumbo. And, legal terms certainly didn't fit this scenario. Nephrene was a healer, so that was a possibility, but Morganians tended to have an unhealthy obsession with The Rising. Was Morgana the kind of dead that could be reanimated? Stutler had told him that she'd basically disintegrated into a sparkly dust that had quickly blown away. Veronica's demise was fairly similar; she'd basically faded away from him, like a bad television screen picture. If anything, her death had been more final, if Morgana's dust particles were still around. Reanimating dead Morganians would be bad enough without Morgana; with her as one of them, it would practically be unstoppable.<p>

"And they want _me_ to perform it?" Balthazar realized with some mix between horror and amusement. It was a completely ludicrous thought, until he actually thought it through. The ultimate Merlinean, save The Prime Merlinean, performing the ultimate Morganian spell. As if reanimating all the dead Morganians wasn't bad enough, having the top Merlinean doing the spell would probably finish the Merlineans for good. And, of course he wouldn't be doing it willingly; they'd already tried that angle. That's where Nephrene comes in, healing whatever wounds he manages to sustain while being captured, or fighting to get out. Of course, they'd take Dave, too, a very effective bargaining chip, or an alternate, in case his master stupidly gets himself killed. They might even take Becky, as extra insurance. Dave had the raw power, but not the nuances; that's why they were after him, and not the boy. Stutler would do, if necessary, but he was secondary; he didn't have 1500 years of power to be crushed. The right spell, under the right persuasion, could make Balthazar chant those words, and the right chains could keep him where they wanted him to be. Hell, if they did it in Battery Park again, it'd be a piece of cake to set up, and they'd probably guard the satellite dishes this time. From what Nephrene had said, it was definitely a bigger operation: It almost didn't sound like Horvath was involved at all, like he was being punished for his previous failure.

For the first time in days, Balthazar was shivering. He'd been holding a fever since Battery Park, but his injuries were almost completely healed, now; even his damaged left arm was nearly good as new. These new revelations had finished the fever, and his blood threatened to turn to ice. He was back in the kitchen, looking at the three place settings on the table, and took his mug to reheat the coffee in the microwave. Now that he had a good idea of the _what_, he just needed to figure out the _when_, and if it was sooner than expected, he was in damn poor shape. So much for wallowing in grief, and he sipped at the coffee carefully while reheating his barely-touched omelet: He wasn't looking forward to learning how to tolerate solid food again, but days just passed so quickly sometimes, that he didn't even realize how long he'd gone without, until it came back to bite him in the ass. Or toss his stomach around like some kind of rubber ball. It took him nearly an hour to finish that omelet, but finish it he did, putting his things in the dishwasher before eating what little remained on the plates of the couple. And then he finished all three coffees, not even caring that the other two were cold, and cleared the table, only the salt, pepper, and napkin holder remaining. Balthazar's senses were suddenly seriously heightened, and he figured he'd drunk too much coffee. Paranoia would do him no good right now, but he felt like his death was pending, and he needed to start making preparations: Veronica's death had really screwed up _everything_. There was always a chance Stutler wouldn't survive, either, but at least the kid would have some kind of family, somewhere, and it'd be fitting that Blake's assets would go to Merlin's descendants.

Balthazar opened the stone wall in one part of the turnaround, much the same way he had in the Arcana Cabana's basement, shoving some things in that he thought were of importance, including Horvath's still-shrunken cane and some paperwork. Everything was feeling sinister, and the feeling was centering around the turnaround, so he wasn't taking any chances. He could go out early tomorrow and officially bequeath his assets to Stutler, but it was almost 7 p.m., now. The Grimhold was staying hidden inside the coat, which he magicked back to full size, though he left the doll the size of an egg. It was doubtful he could use it if more than one Morganian was coming to get him, but you never know. He felt anxious about Dave, but there was no way to get in touch with him, short of showing up at the college. When he saw him again, he'd ask him for a cell phone, and maybe a computer, possibly a laptop, as the kid had the brains, and the man had the cash. Technology wasn't Balthazar's forte, but it was everywhere, and he needed to be able to use it, especially now. He was sure the Morganians weren't after the boy, but it was hard to keep that in the front of his mind. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>He was nearly asleep when knocking at the main door made him bolt upright, eyes wide, heart beating. "Awfully polite for Morganians," Balthazar muttered, putting his shoes on, glancing at the 9:35 p.m. digital clock as he stumbled up for his coat before carefully approaching the door.<p>

"You look as bad as he feels," Becky commented with concern, jabbing a thumb at Stutler while eyeing the obviously upset sorcerer, who responded by practically yanking them inside and slamming the door before resetting the wards.

"Explain yourselves," he ordered as he stomped down the stairs, they practically running to keep up. "You weren't supposed to come back here tonight." He led them into the kitchen, getting out three glass mugs, filling them with milk, and shoving them in the microwave. "And why did you knock to get into _your_ turnaround in the first place?" he glared at Stutler, now.

"Why are _you_ shaking?" the boy finally managed to get out.

"DTs," Balthazar grinned maniacally, holding up his left hand in front of the boy's face, trembling it ridiculously. "I haven't had any Jack Daniels in thirty minutes." He paused, thinking a minute, looking at the clock, "Twenty minutes." He tilted his head slightly, "_Fifteen_ minutes." Starting a bit as the microwave chimed, he put the warm milk on the table, sat down heavily, and magically pulled out the two chairs across from him, wooden legs scraping against the floor. "_Sit_." He'd barely noticed that they'd been carrying a few large bags until they dropped them on the counter and took the chairs. Glancing briefly at the bags, he turned to eye the couple expectantly: "_Talk_."

"I knocked because we weren't supposed to come back, so I didn't want us to startle you by just showing up," Becky started, shrugging slightly. "I guess that was a no-win situation."

"It depends on _why_ you came back here," Balthazar sighed, losing some venom.

"Well, first of all, I'm sorry about those shitty comments I made about the liquor, and the turnaround," Dave started. "I've no call to speak to you like that, ever, especially when I know you're down."

"Apology accepted," the man said quickly, and fairly tonelessly, drinking some milk. "Anything else?"

"I-I bought you a cell phone," Stutler stammered now, cloudy blue eyes following him to the bag, Becky smiling as she watched:

"He likes that, Dave; I can tell."

"I was about to ask you for one," Balthazar admitted with a grin, his reading glasses on as it was brought over to him, the boy's left hand resting on that shoulder from behind as the right flipped the black phone open, showing the man how to use it.

"He was completely lost because he couldn't call you," Becky told on her friend before drinking some milk. Balthazar eyed her meaningfully, now, and she shook her head slightly, making him frown, and sigh heavily.

"_What_?" Stutler demanded, hearing the sigh.

"You and Rebecca weren't the first ones to knock on the door today," Balthazar confessed suddenly. "I've been threatened, and it doesn't look good."

"Horvath?" was Dave's immediate reaction.

"Horvath's on the Morganian shitlist, as far as I can tell. It's a more organized faction, if I'm not mistaken, and they want me to do The Rising. They figured I might turn, since I lost Veronica. I turned down the _nice_ offer, so I've been informed that I'm going to be taken."

"No wonder you freaked out when we showed up," Becky gaped.

"I was wondering why they were knocking . . . Knocking twice in one day would make them the most polite Morganians ever." Stutler sat back down, elbows on the table as he leaned way forward:

"Have I heard of any of them?" Balthazar absentmindedly put the cell phone in his coat, along with the reading glasses.

"I know the one that came to the door, Nephrene, but she didn't inform me of any of the others, nor did she blatantly tell me I'm being forced to do The Rising."

"So are you going to tell me how you figured it all out, or do I have to drag it out of you question by question?" the boy peeved, now.

"Everything's a lesson, Dave," was the answer. "But, you are completely in the dark, so I'll start with Nephrene: She's not a Morganian sorceress; she's a Morganian healer."

"Morganians have healers?"

"For a purpose, especially if you're a Merlinean," he answered cryptically, and Stutler paled. "A good lesson, but a horrifying, though accurate, conclusion. I haven't had a fever since that little realization hit me." All three drank some milk, now, and Becky was puzzled. "You shouldn't be hearing any of this," Balthazar said sadly to the girl. "Especially if you and Dave are not together, anymore." Stutler gaped at the two of them, but they were only looking at each other.

"We're not," she sniffled, getting up for the other bags. "He's completely fixated on you. He had more classes than I did, so he begged me to go shopping for some more clothes for you, since it was _your_ money, anyway." Now it was Balthazar's turn to gape. "He already knew all your sizes; he wrote them down for me." The boy had turned an alarming shade of red by now, and he buried his face in arms on the table as the man narrowed his eyes at him. "It was actually the most fun I've had all day," she assured the man, genuinely smiling at him, now. "I think I matched your style really well; I even found all-leather zip-up boots." Balthazar could hear Stutler snicker at that, and he actually kicked him in the shin under the table. The boy jumped slightly, but didn't lift his head. "I did buy one bag of stuff that's way different from what you normally seem to wear, but that I thought would look really nice on you."

"I can't believe he made you do this, Rebecca," was all he could think to say as he half-heartedly thumbed through the bags, even though he was genuinely touched by the girl's thoughtfulness.

"I told you; it was fun," she insisted, an arm warmly around his neck, kissing his cheek. "I know you're really distracted right now, but all the receipts are there if you want to return something." And then she was reaching in her purse, stopping as the sorcerer held his hand up:

"Do not even _think_ about giving me the change, Rebecca."

"Thank you," she said, hugging him again, he hugging her back this time.

"Thank _you_," he said sincerely, still holding her as they pulled back, brushing hair from her face. "I hope David hasn't left you _too_ heartbroken," he said with just a hint of sarcasm, and she giggled.

"I'm _twenty_," she emphasized, fully realizing that she had all the time in the world.

"Good," he grinned, finally fully releasing her so she could replace the bags to the counter. "Sit back down, finish your milk and relax for a few minutes, and then I'll send you home."

"I'll take her," Stutler suddenly volunteered, head up from his arms, face still somewhat pink, but not crimson, anymore.

"We're in the middle of a lesson, David," he snapped, now, eyes boring into the boy as he tried to make him understand. "I'll be _sending_ her home." A meaningful pause as comprehension finally started to dawn. "It's the _least_ I can do."

"I'm gonna miss you two," Becky piped up, now. "But, as long as I see Dave at school, at least I'll know you're both okay."

"Likewise," Stutler grinned playfully at her, poking her in the arm.


	5. Chapter 5

"'There's no place like home; there's no place like home; there's no place like—' _What_?" the boy demanded indignantly as Becky burst into laughter, and Balthazar looked like he was ready to commit murder:

"For Merlin's _sake_, David, I need to concentrate."

"But, she doesn't have any ruby slippers—"

"That's because you made her spend all that money on _me_," the man peeved, though all three of them were actually laughing now. Balthazar had asked Rebecca for her address, then told her to focus on it, and where exactly she wanted to be when she got there, and she told him she wanted to be in her bedroom if she was just going to suddenly appear in her house. "And I presume we have each other's cell phone numbers?" he'd asked her, as well, she reassuring him that they did. "You have five minutes to get your bearings and call me, or else I'm calling you. If I don't get you, I'll be coming after you; understood?" She nodded, and then she was gone, and he was immediately glaring at the boy still at the kitchen table: "You are an _ass_ for letting her go."

"But, we're in trouble, anyway; right?" Balthazar nodded, reluctantly, "It's unfair for her to be the weakest link; they'll always go after her."

"That's not _really_ why you sent her away, although it would be one of the more _practical_ reasons," the man frowned, though he brightened instantly as his phone rang: "Hello?"

"That was _such_ a rush!" Becky exclaimed, positively giddy as she twirled around in the middle of her bedroom.

"Everything's fine, then?" he wondered in amusement. "All your body parts are where they're supposed to be?"

"No wonder everyone's in love with you, Balthazar! Goodnight," she sing-songed.

"Goodnight, Rebecca," he chuckled as he hung up the phone. "She's . . . strangely euphoric," he informed the boy.

"Well, she's kinda like that, anyway," Stutler pointed out.

"Yes; somewhat," the man agreed with a grin. "I find it refreshing. Not a lot of people have such a zest for life." He sat back down at the kitchen table, reaching over and grabbing the boy's hands, startling him terribly. "Why would you give up such a ray of sunshine for a 1500 year-old man who's probably going to die in a few days' time?"

"Why are you suddenly so sure that you're going to die from this?" Dave demanded, and now he was the one grabbing the man's hands as he tried to pull back. "They don't even have you, yet, except maybe in your head." He searched hard into those cloudy blue eyes, "I think you just have a death wish because Veronica's gone."

"I didn't say I was sure; I said _probably_," the man got out through gritted teeth, no longer fighting the hold on his hands. "As for them being in my head: Sorry, but I've been fighting Morganians for 1400+ years, and I know how they think. And, if you're really interested in some kind of relationship with me, you need to stop blaming Veronica every time I do something you don't like." Balthazar tried to pull away again, but the hold only tightened. "What now?" he asked impatiently.

"You didn't respond to the death wish part, other than to not blame it on . . . her."

"The death wish isn't mine; it's coming from the Morganians. They're going to pile on because Veronica's gone: You're not the only one using her against me, and you're not the worst," he fumed, now. "They know where she's been, what my hope was, and now they're convinced that I'm a broken man, just waiting to be crushed." Stutler was finally, slowly pulling his hands away, now, frowning. "I tried to take one day, _one fucking day_ for myself, to grieve, to drink, to throw up; whatever, and they showed up, so I don't get to do any of that." The boy was unusually quiet, now, hunched over to drink his milk, and Balthazar finished his. "Anything else, before I go to bed?"

"The lesson," Stutler said softly. "You didn't finish the lesson."

"Nephrene told me to brush up on my Latin," he remembered, the two eyeing each other. "In this day and age, Latin only means three things: Legal terms, medical terms, and The Rising." Dave was looking at him quizzically, having missed the performance of the rare and deadly spell. "Veronica as Morgana was chanting in Latin for more than five minutes; it's one of the longest spells, ever, both because of its complexity, and its consequences."

"So, you really think they want you to do that?"

"We're the top Merlineans, Dave, even if there are other expert sorcerers. You're the Prime Merlinean, and I've got 1500 years experience. I beat you just for the nuances, and the respect I command. Me performing The Rising will crush the Merlineans, even before the resurrection of the dead Morganians. If the Morganians can break me, and force me to do The Rising, we're finished."

"And, you think they can do that?"

"We're outnumbered, at the very least. And," he added sadly, "With Veronica gone, I'm already broken, whether I want to admit that or not."

"I'm not leaving you, Balthazar."

"You're not supposed to," he sighed in resignation. "You're a great bargaining chip and, if I'm stupid enough to die beforehand, _you'll_ be performing The Rising." He stood slowly, watching the boy deflate. "If you can see another outcome, I'd love to hear it, but I need to get some sleep." He removed his and Becky's empty mugs to the dishwasher, and pulled off his coat. "Sleep wherever the hell you want, Dave; I don't really care. Good night."

"Good night, Balthazar," Stutler said softly as the man disappeared down the hall. He obviously wasn't as tired, but he was rather shell-shocked by this sudden dire turn of events, and wasn't sure what to do. Maybe he didn't exactly have a death wish, but the man was still being awfully fatalistic, and maybe he had good reason to be: It suddenly felt like this battle was never going to end. Defeat Morgana, save the world, and go on with your life, it had seemed before, but nothing was ever that simple in the long run. Was there even such a thing as a happy ending, anymore?

Balthazar's new cell phone still needed to be fully charged, so Stutler put his empty mug in the dishwasher and moved to the appropriate bag for the charger, and decided to hang up all the new clothes in the bathroom, as well. And the man's cleaned clothes were wrinkled in the dryer, so he reboot that first before silently entering the makeshift bedroom with the double bed, where the man was fast asleep, hair sprawled out over the pillow. Dave smiled, because at least the man hadn't gone to sleep in the twin bed in the other room, and he could take some hope that he wasn't being completely shut out. He plugged the charger in next to the nightstand lamp, then fished the phone out of the trenchcoat and stuck it in the charger, and then he went to hang up the clothes, so Balthazar would find it easy to pick out what interested him the next time he changed.

Stutler stripped down to his plaid boxers and double tees before carefully getting into the bed beside the man, who was mostly on his stomach, though his head was turned to face his nightstand. His arms were up over his head, resting between the pillow and the wall, and the hands' fingerless gloves were now leather, not knit, and Dave was surprised that he hadn't realized that they had changed, especially since he'd been desperately clutching them less than an hour before. He snuggled up against the man's right side under the covers, inhaling deeply, but Balthazar didn't seem to really smell like anything, somewhat surprisingly. Apparently, the elder sorcerer was back in the thermal henley and black silk boxers, Stutler's left hand sliding over his back, ending up lightly grasping the left side of his waist. The man stirred slightly at the hold, but didn't really move.

"Hugging me again, Dave?" he chided softly, still not moving.

"You don't have to hug me back," was the muted answer.

"Anything else on your mind, besides physical affection?"

"Is leaving an option?" he wondered suddenly, surprising the man, and even himself. Balthazar turned his head on the pillow to face him, having to look slightly downward:

"Do you want to leave?"

"You're only staying here because of me."

"I've been thinking of getting us an apartment; this turnaround is no longer safe." He looked amused at the boy's shocked face. "Two bedrooms; maybe three," he clarified, probably unnecessarily. "Your apartment with Bennet is not safe for either of you if you continue to live there."

"But . . .What about leaving? _Really_ leaving?"

"I can't see you just dropping your classes."

"I can; very easily, if it means saving your life." Balthazar squinted.

"What about Rebecca? She's in the Encantus, as your girlfriend," the boy was reminded. "If we go too far, we won't be able to help her."

"You don't want to leave?"

"I don't want to leave the city; just the obvious places."

"Why don't you just surrender to them, then, because my classes are part of the obvious places," Stutler peeved, now.

"I don't attend your classes."

"They'll still take me, just to get to you, so what's the difference?"

"We're talking in circles, Dave." He paused as the boy sighed. "Look; I'm not hiding, so there's no reason to take you just to get me. I have errands to run in the morning, and I know you have at least one class tomorrow. We split up in the morning, and we don't come back here tomorrow night: I have a bad feeling about this place, so we go to a hotel."

"I already told you that I'm not leaving you—"

"If we're together, they'll take us both for sure. If we're apart, they may just take me. That was the threat. Can we keep you out of this, if at all possible, please?"

"Like I'll be able to function without you, knowing you're a prisoner somewhere."

"You've functioned without me before; you can do it, again. And you _will _have to do it again at some point; I'm _much _older than you, especially if I'm aging normally again." He finally turned on his left side, facing the boy, right hand reaching out, touching his temple lightly, "You won't turn gray before me, as I stagnate. I'm looking forward to getting older without someone I care about dying of old age before me." He rolled his eyes in emphasis, "_Again_."

"This is another lesson; isn't it?" Stutler realized accusingly, and the man dropped his hand.

"I told you before: _Everything's _a lesson." A strategic pause, "Once I'm taken, it may become clearer who we're dealing with. We already know it's for The Rising, and I already know it's Nephrene. The more you know, the more you have to work with. They know how powerful I am, so they're going to try to shut me down until they need my power for The Rising. They can't kill me until after, but I'm sure that's the general plan." He smiled wanly, "Hell, the whole _point _of The Rising is to kill off resistance."

"So, you want me to be the hero again?"

"Just save the world, Dave; don't worry about me." A troubling pause, "I won't do that spell unless I'm under some kind of trance, or something, so if you kill me in the middle of it, I won't know any better, anyway." The boy's chocolate eyes widened in horror, and Balthazar grasped his biceps firmly, "I'm not worried about dying, Dave; I've lived fourteen more centuries than I should have, already."

"Then, what _are_ you worried about?" he was asked meekly.

"Besides you?" A weak nod, and the man thought a minute. "The process. Their methods. Dying's the easy part; it's reaching that point that's a bitch. I've never gotten used to torture, and Morganians love to do that."

"That's what's had you so on edge, then; am I right?"

"Yes," he answered softly. "They knew Nephrene would set me off; I know her for a reason, and it's not pretty." He frowned, rubbing his face, "There's no _good_ reason for a Merlinean to know a Morganian healer."

"I want to be _your _hero, Balthazar," Stutler said softly, now.

"You already are, Dave, but remember: The _world first_, me second, or there won't be any me to save. And," he smirked, "I want to be cremated."

"_What_?"

"I refuse to be pulled up out of the ground," he smiled reassuringly. "If I haven't done what I've needed to do after 1500 years, tough shit." A pause, "I'm really, _really_ tired, so I'm staying gone once I'm gone." He looked at the boy tenderly, "I don't mind you bringing me back after a bit, but don't you dare turn into a mad scientist and try to reanimate my cold, dead, rotting corpse."

"I promise," Stutler vowed, not sure whether to laugh or cry. "Okay, Balthazar, it's your call: We split up in the morning, and then I'll try to play hero if I have to."

"Anything else?" The question had barely left his lips when Dave's mouth suddenly covered his own, kissing him desperately hard, one hand pulling at his shoulder, the other entangling his hair. Balthazar fought it for just the briefest of seconds, and then sighed into it before finally pulling back, though the hands didn't leave his shoulder, or his hair. "What's this all about, Dave?" he asked, more breathless than he'd care to admit.

"I want to give us both something else to live for."

"Complications," he said dismissively.

"I love you, Balthazar," the boy emphasized, the other's eyes widening. "It's not complicated on my end." He kissed him again, quickly, before continuing, "_Everything's_ complicated on your end."

"Just in case you've jumped to conclusions, the purple flames that have been engulfing the Merlin Circle since this morning do _not_ mean I've gone gay," he said fairly gravely, though there was a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth. "They're a tribute, and a memorial, to Veronica."

"I have been meaning to ask you about that but, no, I didn't think it meant that you'd gone gay." He grinned, "I'm happy you love Veronica so much; I just want you to love me, too, and maybe realize it before you die, as well."

"'Love is a distraction'," the man replied, quoting himself. "I can't afford to be distracted any more than I already am, and I'm not going to let your guard go down because you're afraid of losing me. There's a chance we may never see each other again after tomorrow morning—"

"Look," Stutler interrupted angrily. "If you want to logic your way out of feeling anything for me, that's your prerogative, but don't you dare deny or dismiss, discredit, or discount my feelings because you think I'm feeling them under duress." He was practically shaking the man, now. "I loved you enough to where I wanted nothing more than for you to be happy with Veronica. _God_, how I wanted that for you," he sniffled, tearing up. "I never thought about being with you until I found out she was gone, and now I barely think of anything else. I'm sure Becky told you that."

"She did," Balthazar whispered, touched but unmoving. "I can't go there yet, Dave."

"I don't care if you ever go _there_, as long as you understand that I'm already _there_."

"I get it, David."

"Think about that while you're chained in the Morganians' basement."

"Okay," he agreed, shocking the boy:

"That was a _joke_, Balthazar."

"No it wasn't, Dave; not really."

"Then I'm sorry, but I'm going to keep kissing you until we part in the morning." A long pause, "Can you, will you at least go there for me?" he asked hopefully.

"I'll go there for you, David," was the soft reply, his mouth immediately engulfed again, the boy's hands clutching his hair. If Stutler attacked the Morganians with half as much gusto, they were in better shape than he thought.

* * *

><p>"Can you feel them?" Balthazar asked Dave as he locked the last bag in the Phantom's trunk. "They're getting closer." The boy had barely nodded when his master basically shoved him back through the door of the turnaround, locking and warding it. "Either they're going to swarm us, or this is going to be their headquarters."<p>

"So, they'll most likely keep you here, as well?"

"Yes." The man had been severely distracted since they'd arisen just after dawn. "I think they're fudging their numbers, though." Balthazar had been veering between their endangered reality, and the vibes radiating off the approaching Morganians, and he was already tired. "Maybe ten, at the most, including Nephrene." He opened the secret wall compartment as Dave gaped, and shoved the paperwork in his coat. "Do you want to put your Tesla computers in here?" he offered, then warned: "They'll use anything we leave." The computers went in. "Anything else?" and he laughed as the boy kissed him again: "I need to think of a new phrase." He sealed the wall back up.

"Figured that out already, huh?" Stutler chuckled back. "Do you have your cell phone?"

"Yeah, but that might be the first thing I ditch before I get taken, if I can." A pause, "Do you have your Encantus?"

"'Pocket Edition," he nodded, not happy, as that might be the way he finds out his master is dead.

"Look for a white pigeon later on."

"If I see Becky at school, do you want me to relay a message?" the boy smiled, and Balthazar did likewise:

"Tell her I love the zip-up ankle boots, and the faded jeans." He was wearing them now, though the rest of his outfit hadn't changed from his usual.

"Will do," he sing-songed, then stopped in a belatedly shocked realization: "_Nine_ Morganian sorcerers?"

"No, no, no. A cook, a maid, a couple henchmen; never forget the servants. They can become allies, if you can snap them out of it. The ratios change, depending on how many tasks each servant can do. It's not _that_ hopeless. Morganian sorcerers and healers don't do menial tasks." Balthazar could hear them at three entrances, now, so there were at least three sorcerers. But they still had to break through the wards, and he backed the boy up behind him, blocking any view of him. "You're going to Bennet's; right?"

"Just to tell him I'm leaving, and to watch Tank until I have a permanent address. Then I'll probably go to breakfast, and then class."

"Don't go to the hotel until at least five; you won't get in the room before then." He paused, glancing behind him, "You know they're breaking the wards; right?"

"Yeah."

"So, why aren't you leaving?"

"Turn around, Balthazar—"

"David—"

"I love you, and I'm kissing you, so turn around, _dammit_!"

"Fine way to get me killed," he groused even while complying, but still shocked by the intensity. He reeled back, but the boy was gone, and the doors broke down. Balthazar vanished right before they entered the lab, and the Tesla coils went off, the room filling with a strange lightning. The sorcerers couldn't hear the Phantom start from within the chaos, but the two henchmen outside did, though they couldn't see a driver as it screeched away from the curb.


	6. Chapter 6

Balthazar changed the car twice before he finally slowed down, being that the Phantom itself was way too easy to spot, and the Mercedes really wasn't much better, though it was admittedly faster. He was now in a blue Honda Civic Coupe, stuck in the city's rush hour traffic like everyone else. Somewhat at ease, he called Dave, who immediately answered.

"We forgot to discuss the car," he admitted. "I'll leave it as the green '73 Pinto you seem to be so fond of, so that's what it'll be if I don't make it to the hotel."

"Will I never live that down?" the boy replied with exasperation, although he was secretly thrilled to hear the familiar voice again.

"The trick will be actually finding it, although '73 Pintos are almost as rare as '35 Phantoms," he grinned back. "Mainly because they all blew up," he gleefully added, making Stutler groan.

"You're not gonna give me a clue as to where you're going; are you?"

"Look for the white pigeon later on," he answered cryptically. "I need to send you something more solid than a text message—"

"Pigeon poop?" was the disgusted interruption, and Balthazar laughed.

"Pigeon poop isn't that solid . . . not at first, anyway." And then he turned deadly serious, "Hopefully, I'll get the pigeon out to you, but it may be the last thing I'm able to do." A long pause, "Whatever happens, check the car carefully once you do find it, and try to find it sooner if I don't get the pigeon to you."

"Are you being followed, yet?"

"Not that I can tell, but it's rush hour in the city . . . Once I start walking around, I'll probably be easier to track."

"I really hope your little errands are worth losing your life for, Balthazar."

"If they weren't, I wouldn't be doing them, David," he snipped back gently, not wanting an argument to be their last conversation. "And make sure you're not being followed, as well. If they have both of us, we might not have a snowball's chance in hell. I'm almost guaranteeing to get caught, so you better be doing your damnedest not to."

"I promise, Balthazar. Nobody's going to catch me."

"Good. And keep your eye on your Encantus," he finished.

"I love you, Balthazar," the boy managed to get out before he hung up, and he shut the phone, pressing it to his forehead tensely and closing his eyes, shaking his head slightly.

* * *

><p>Balthazar had breakfast across the street from his first destination, trying to eat as much as possible, since he knew it might be his last meal, although it was ridiculously hard to even think about food right now. Orange juice, bacon, toast, strawberries, scrambled eggs, and coffee, but all he really wanted to do was throw up. Not that he looked it: He looked relaxed, and clean, and healthy, and friendly, just like he usually did, and he sat by the window to seemingly watch the outside world pass him by. It didn't look like he was actively scanning for enemy Morganians, especially sorcerers, and he left the usual generous tip before heading across the street to the local bank.<p>

One local bank, one national bank, and one international bank. All three in New York City, and all three now connected David Stutler to Balthazar Blake, complete with three very convenient debit cards that the man was now securing to a rather hefty white pigeon, along with a hastily scribbled note. The '73 Pinto was parked about two blocks away, right by the last bank he had been to, and it was now nearly two o'clock in the afternoon as he sat on a park bench surrounded by hungry pigeons of all sorts, feeding them bits of a small sandwich that he found himself unable to touch. He'd tossed the cell phone in a curb sewer drain on his way here, finally, vaguely sensing that he was being followed, or watched, or both. One particular hefty white pigeon had appealed to him, and he'd picked it up, cuddling and cooing to it softly as he set about his task, and he secured an invisible shield around it before releasing it to go to Dave. What he had known all along about doing this little task was that it was like sending up a beacon that said the Merlinean sorcerer was right here. What he hadn't known, however, is that even though he sensed the poisoned dagger before it stuck precisely in his neck after managing to slice two fingers he instinctively put up to deflect it, was that Maxim Horvath had thrown it. The rest of the pigeons scattered as he dropped on his back to the bench, and paralyzing surges shuddered through his body and down into his limbs until he couldn't move at all. Balthazar could breathe, blink, and look around, but that was it, and his eyes widened as Horvath suddenly appeared above him:

"Good. You're alive." He grabbed his enemy's right hand, ignoring the blood streaming down from two fingers, and secured a tight black rubber glove on top of the sorcerer's own fingerless one, covering the rings on that hand. "Your magic is shut down until it's required," he was informed harshly. "It takes magic to remove this, so you're stuck, _again_, Balthazar." He snarled at the blond, now, "You fuck up everything for me: Veronica, my cane, and nearly even this: You could've killed yourself trying to deflect my dagger, and then where would I be?" A pause, "And, lucky for you; you're paralyzed while that dagger remains, or else you would've killed yourself trying to remove it. Aren't I thoughtful?" The two didn't really have time to draw a crowd, as an unmarked ambulance quickly pulled up, Nephrene and two henchmen dressed as paramedics emerging.

"Nice shot," she complimented Horvath as she inspected where the dagger had stuck in. "Painful, and scary as all hell, but not fatal. Just don't jostle it," she informed the two men as they carefully placed the motionless sorcerer on the stretcher, six straps holding him down under the sheet, and another one over his forehead, pinning his head back securely. Balthazar was strangely sleepy, his eyes blinking very slowly as Horvath, Nephrene, and one henchman hovered over him in the screaming ambulance, the other driving.

* * *

><p>"Hello, Balthazar; I'm Grigory," the long white-haired man smiled at him in the lab inside the turnaround, the stretcher paused. "I've heard a lot about you; it's an honor to meet you." He picked up the right hand, somewhat surprised that blood was oozing from under the glove: "He nearly deflected your dagger, Maxim?"<p>

"Nearly," the other admitted.

"Impressive." Horvath's teeth gritted, but he didn't say anything. Grigory motioned to the purple flames engulfing the Merlin Circle behind them, "Do you know what this is about?"

"A tribute to Veronica Gorloisen, I would presume."

"Because?"

"They were lovers, and she died right after Morgana's attempt at The Rising," he swallowed hard. "Purple was her color." Blake's eyes were tearing right down the sides of his face, but nobody noticed, or pretended not to, anyway.

"What do you want me to do about the dagger?" Nephrene asked.

"Normally I'd say just remove it, and let it bleed, but I'll send Druid in. I think he'll enjoy meeting our new patient, and he'll be much neater than saturating the bedclothes with blood."

Balthazar was placed back on the full bed he'd shared with Stutler less than twelve hours before, but now it was in the precise middle of the room. He was still fully dressed down to the trenchcoat, because it was still too dangerous to move him with the dagger still imbedded in his neck, but Nephrene did remove his new boots, taking them from the room. He was wondering who Druid was, but not for long, as the black-haired vampire entered the room soundlessly, eyeing the sorcerer hungrily. Nephrene was snaring his left arm, now, holding the hand and stabbing some kind of monitor into a main vein in the middle.

"The dagger is poisoned?" Druid asked, leaning over the man, sniffing him lightly.

"Paralytically; yes," Nephrene answered. "When it's removed, the paralysis will end. It's not blood-borne."

"This is the famous Balthazar; yes?"

"The one and only."

"Was he really Merlin's apprentice?"

"Yes."

"So that makes him—"

"Nearly 1500 years old."

"And still such a fragile human," he hummed, looking deeply into the man's watery eyes, a cold hand stroking his face. "And so _warm_."

"Sorcerers' body temperatures rise when they are injured, so his system is either reacting to the paralysis, or the cuts on his right hand—"

"So that's what I smell," he smiled, lifting the hand, sucking the blood out from under the glove as Balthazar winced, somewhat grossed out. "A most unusual flavor, like aged fine wine," he concluded happily, gently laying the hand across the sorcerer's middle before laying on the bed on his right.

"Just don't add another hole; use what the dagger made."

"Fine," he agreed, left hand grasping the other's shoulder, right shooing hair away.

"And stop when I tell you to. We're not trying to kill him yet."

"Of course."

"You may proceed when ready."

"Try not to move; even when you can," the vampire warned in a whisper into his ear. "If you make me frenetic, I can kill you without meaning to." Druid pulled the dagger out slowly, handing it to Nephrene, before latching on to the sorcerer's neck as if he were going to give him a giant hickey. Balthazar's head whirled madly, eyes rolling back, his entire body tingling as feeling came forth, even as his blood was being pulled back, his right hand and his neck feeling like they were on fire, while the rest of him was being drowned in icewater.

The vampire was suddenly gone, Nephrene shaking her head slightly as she looked at the monitor before pulling it out. The sorcerer's lips and fingertips were tinted a pale shade of blue, and he was shivering madly, palming his face with his hands to try to stop his freefall.

"Balthazar?" she whispered, up and trying to get him under the covers.

"A little too much, eh?" Grigory knew as he entered the room with the two men. "That's the trouble with vampires; they never know when to stop." He moved close to the bed, looking the Merlinean over. "I want the trenchcoat, the vest, the chain, the bracelet, and the rings on the left hand," he ordered. "That leaves him modest enough, but defenseless; I'd hate to get punched with those rings." He turned to Nephrene, "That'll hold him for a while; getting used to the lack of blood, and oxygen. Seal the neck wound, and report his condition to me on the hour, and whenever you think he might require oxygen, sedation, or the like." She nodded, eyes shining, and he smiled, "As for your own lusty desires, just make sure they don't interfere with the plan." The two men had the items by now, the bewildered sorcerer left laying under the covers on his side, hands pressed to his chest to soothe his aching, pounding heart. "I just want to study these items," Grigory said directly to him, although he didn't seem to realize it as his head continued to swim. "Feel better, Balthazar."

Nephrene slid into the bed behind the sorcerer, molding her body against his back, but he didn't seem to notice, not moving as she aided his system in closing the slit of the wound. His breathing was labored, and his teeth were chattering, and his intense blue gaze was fixated somewhere between his stripped left hand and the bedsheets. He recoiled violently, however, as her hand moved down to clutch his hip.

"Don't touch me," he hissed, voice full of revulsion.

"I'm just trying to warm you up."

"Do it medically, or don't do it at all." He turned on his other side to face her, skin alarmingly pale compared to his normal state. "Find extra blankets; give me some soup; do a fucking transfusion if you have to, but don't touch me." Nephrene got out of the bed, desperately unhappy.

"You can freeze, then," she snapped.

"Fine," he growled back, closing his eyes, pulling the covers closer.

* * *

><p>Stutler was just emerging from his lab class in room 445, exiting the NYU building, when he was assaulted by a very unhappy chubby white pigeon, it flying around his head and squawking like crazy. He nearly tried to shoo it away before he realized, and then he was calling to it, catching it gently, cradling it in both hands as he sat on the wall, not noticing the laughter and incredulous stares all around him from witnesses to the spectacle.<p>

"Balthazar," he barely breathed, the pigeon cooing softly in response as he meticulously removed the tiny white envelope containing a note and three debit cards:

_This is it, Dave. I've risked my life to give you access to these accounts. Each card is worth $90,000 to start with, and contact the three banks for further info. Save the world, save me, or just save yourself from mountains of debt, and then some. You are my only heir. I have other accounts, but no more time; You might find them if you live long enough. Just don't be frivolous; You're too important for that. I'm being followed, so sending this pigeon will pinpoint my location, and finish me. Check the car for other paperwork. Love, Balthazar_

The boy read the note ten times over, his hands shaking as he held it, completely in disbelief. He didn't know what stunned him more: The sheer amount of money he now had, or the 'Love Balthazar' on the end, although he was probably reading way too much into that last part. He got up, but his legs were shaking uncontrollably, so he sat back down, on the concrete this time, back against the wall, and then he leaned his face into cupped hands, and started crying.

* * *

><p>"He's having great difficulty, both with the chills and his breathing, but he's refusing help right now. I'll intervene if it becomes deadly, and inform you."<p>

Nephrene had given Grigory her latest report not five minutes ago, and now she was falling asleep in a chair, completely bored. Still clutching his chest with his left hand, Balthazar shoved the covers aside with his right, falling to his knees instantly as he tried to rise from the bed, gasping silently, as he absolutely refused to make a sound. Holding his mouth in a tight line to silence his teeth's incessant chattering, he carefully crawled out of the room and to the Merlin Circle, which was still ablaze in purple.

"_Veronica_," he whispered, tears streaming down. "I miss you so much, Veronica." Completely exhausted, and where he wanted to be, he laid down on the warm stone floor, barely a foot from the Circle, and basked in Its warmth as he finally fell to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

"Touching," Grigory was commenting now, the Merlinean suddenly yanked to his feet by the henchmen on either side of him, both clutching a bicep and a wrist as they held him up between them. "Quite touching." He turned away from Balthazar, lifting his hands, dropping a Morganian Pentacle on top of the Circle, extinguishing the flames as the man glared at the back of his head. Grigory turned back to him now, smiling slightly: "How appropriate that you'll be doing The Rising next."

"And appropriately possessed, as well," he spat back in a wheeze, dizzy from being forced to stand.

"We'll see." He looked the prisoner over carefully, "You're neglecting him, Nephrene; he looks like hell."

"I hadn't noticed," she said indifferently. "Oxygen and sedatives won't help him, anyway," she knew. "He needs blood, or iron, or time."

"Damn Druid." Grigory sighed heavily now. "Very well, then. Test all the shackles, then tell me he still doesn't need the oxygen."

* * *

><p>"Isn't this," Balthazar gulped now, trying to catch his breath as an iron clamp was snugly fastened around his bared waist. His armwarmers were gone, the undershirts were off, and his shirt was wide open, and there were already irons around his wrists and neck. "Isn't this a little extreme?"<p>

"This is for The Rising." Ah, yes; right; okay; he knew that.

"I'm tired of breathing," he whispered now, eyelids fluttering.

"Shit; wait. Balthazar?" Nephrene slapped him, now, and his eyes just barely opened before closing again.

"I quit."

"You can't quit—"

"I quit." He started to cough, but it didn't make it past the neck shackle, and his chest caught fire. He shook his head slightly, "I quit."

"What's going on?" Grigory demanded, bursting into the room.

"It's not working," Nephrene cried out, shoving off the waist and neck shackles, and forcing an oxygen mask over the spent sorcerer's face. "It's too much; he's too weak."

"But, he's so powerful—"

"He's _suffocating_," she insisted.

"Do it with him out, then; it'll be less of a struggle. If it's still too much, intubate him. He'll adjust; he'll come out of it as he adjusts." She stared at him with her mouth agape, "Just do it, Nephrene." A pause, "And I want updates every half hour from now on."

* * *

><p>The car wasn't at all hard to find, once Stutler began to let himself think like Balthazar, and once he had managed to stop his damned crying. He'd have plenty of time to do that later, once he was at the hotel for the night, alone. The Pinto didn't look much different than the last time he'd seen it, except the roof wasn't pushed far down enough to break any of the windows. He touched it lightly but purposefully once there was a break in the crowds, willing it back to its last incarnation, wondering just what his master had actually been driving around in last (and just knowing that the Pinto wasn't it), and a medium blue Honda Civic Coupe appeared before him: Nicely non-descript. He got in and locked the doors, sniffing deeply at the air, still trying to associate some specific scent, nomatter how vague, with his master, but felt more of a tingle from the other's electricity than anything else. Interesting. Was everything Balthazar touched slightly charged, or was it just because the boy was so tuned in to him? Or was it just because they were fellow sorcerers? He didn't remember feeling anything similar around Drake, or Abigail, or even Horvath, but maybe that was just because he didn't want to.<p>

* * *

><p>"Stop stalking him, Maxim," Nephrene scolded impatiently as she and the two men finished chaining the unconscious sorcerer to the bed, the links meeting up in the middle underneath with a hefty padlock. It was a lot of weight, and the bed sagged somewhat. "You'll have your turn."<p>

"Just making sure you don't kill him beforehand."

"Forbidden. Grigory's right; he's adjusting better unconscious, both to the blood loss, and the irons, though I need to keep an eye on that fever before he boils over."

* * *

><p><em>I, Balthazar Blake, being of sound mind and body on this second Day of March . . <em>

Stutler couldn't read, anymore, his eyes filling again_. _A very current Will, deeds, and who knows what else, all bequeathed to him. It was rather touching, but also absolutely horrifying. Barely two weeks ago, it was a note with a necklace, saying 'Give this to Veronica', but now that she was gone . . . "Oh, no, Balthazar," he hissed. "I'm not letting you give up this easily." And then he was crying again, in the parking garage of a hotel overlooking Battery Park, "And stop being so damned practical."

* * *

><p>Well, at least he could breathe, now, for some odd reason, though the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose might have something to do with that. It's not like he could move, otherwise, wrists and ankles stretched out to their limits at his sides by shackles, which were also around his neck, waist and knees, the last locked straight. Horvath was leaning purposefully over him, clutching one of those damned daggers in a white-knuckled hand.<p>

"How the mighty have fallen," he spat with murderous eyes.

"_Maxim_!" Grigory yelled from behind him, and Horvath's face turned as white as his knuckles. "Don't let me catch you in here again." He pointed towards the door, and the other stuffed the dagger back into his overcoat and slinked out of the room.

"He just won't stay out of here," Nephrene complained.

"He will, now, if he values his life at all," Grigory asserted, then turned a gentler gaze to the Merlinean, leaning close, checking the damp cloth on his forehead. "You look much better, Balthazar, though I wouldn't try speaking just yet. No need to exhaust yourself." He turned back to Nephrene, "Keep him sedated until tomorrow afternoon, and then we'll see how strong he is." There was a pinch at the sorcerer's left wrist, but he managed to watch Grigory leave the room before he was asleep again.

* * *

><p>"Room 6082," the hotel clerk stated, holding out two keycards as Stutler froze in place:<p>

"_What_?"

"Room 6082," the clerk repeated, edging the keycards closer. "Is something wrong, sir?" The boy was suddenly smiling, shaking his head as he took the cards.

"No, sir, everything's just fine." Balthazar's weird-ass license plate had that same number, and there was no way in hell that that was just a coincidence. He'd been meaning to ask his master if that number had any significance, but now he was sure it must have. He just hoped he wouldn't have to figure it out for himself. Taking his few bags to the elevators that would go to the 60th floor, he tried to find some comfort in the man's odd sense of humor, and also tried not to think of what he might be going through right at this moment back at the turnaround.

The room was large, and dark, and very modern, and Balthazar had obviously spared no expense: The small fridge was full, there were sample bottles of all kinds of liquor at the bar, there was a king-sized bed, and even a Jacuzzi. Stutler fantasized it being a very masculine honeymoon suite; he just couldn't help it. And then he sat on the edge of the bed, and started crying again.

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

"'Ello, luv! Dave, innit?" The voice sounded ridiculously familiar, but the boy was too distraught to figure it out.

"Yes, this is Dave, answering Dave's cell phone," he found himself practically snarling. The only person he wanted to hear from was Balthazar, and it shot his temper. "Who the hell are you?"

"How come your master isn't answering his cell phone?" the voice inquired, ignoring the negativity.

"He ditched it. He's too busy fighting Morganians to take social calls."

"Well, I'm quite the social persona, but that's not what I wanted to talk to Blake about and, actually, I'd like to talk to you, too, if you're not too busy, you know, like your master, since you obviously have your cell phone." Stutler's ears went red at the veiled insult, but he was trying to keep an open mind. And, Drake Stone, that's his _name_, wasn't exactly wrong, the boy in a luxurious hotel suite while his master suffered in the hands of his enemies, nomatter if it was his choice or not.

"What do you want to talk to us about?"

"I owe both of you my life, and I always repay my debts."

"We don't need your money, Drake." Of course, that could be just a figure of speech, but we're talking about a very wealthy performer, here.

"Oh?" the other replied with obvious surprise. "I mean, the Rolls is lovely, but neither your apartment or that turnaround thingy look very cozy."

"My _apartment_?" Stutler responded in shock, though he remembered Master saying it wasn't safe. And here he'd been hoping it was some trick to get them to share a living quarters. Obviously not. Of course not. We're talking Balthazar, here.

"It's not exactly classified information, luv."

"Well, that may be so, but where we are right now pretty much is, so if you really want to talk, this is where you have to come, and without an entourage unless, of course, Abigail is with you."

"I don't know where the little dyke is," Drake rasped with distaste. "She might be raising hell back in Salem again, for all I know."

"Just as well, then, if she's still a full Morganian." Stutler wouldn't normally be so dismissive, but he had priorities.

"No doubt."

"And just to clarify: Where do your priorities lie?"

"With my fans, and my friends—"

"Providing your own ass isn't on the line."

"I get your hostility, luv, but kissing Horvath's ass never got me anywhere." A long pause, as they both thought. "I've been doing a lot of thinking; that's why I've called."

"And Balthazar doesn't need any more lovers; just so you know." Drake laughed, now:

"Fighting hard, loving harder?" Even Stutler had to snicker at that one. "Look; I'm coming over, alone; okay?"

"Okay," the boy finally agreed. And a thought occurred: "You have a Morganian Encantus; right?"

"You want me to bring it, obviously," though he sounded surprised.

"Obviously. Maybe we can compare notes."

"The plot thickens . . ." Drake said with a combination of amusement and interest.

* * *

><p><em>Balthazar, can you hear me? Balthazar?<em>

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. Clear his blood with a transfusion, then try this one," Grigory commanded, handing Nephrene another vial. "I don't know if we need to use a stronger one, to break through defenses, or a weaker one, because he'll be more receptive." He paused, thinking, and Nephrene smiled:

"Use the strongest; it's important that you take him over."

"Yes," he agreed, giving her the appropriate vial, taking the other back. "Our task is too important for experiments."

* * *

><p>Drake Stone wasn't being very helpful, but it wasn't his fault. At least he knew exactly where all the satellite dishes were, though any notes that had been at his penthouse had disappeared with Horvath, which made both Stutler and him think that he must have some part in this new plot, nomatter how small. Drake was completely stunned to find out what had happened to Balthazar, and he was determined to help the Merlineans this time. After all, what was the point of being a world famous illusionist without any fans? They kept an eye on Battery Park throughout the night, but Balthazar had only been kidnapped that afternoon, so the odds had been extremely slim that The Rising would happen so soon. Despite his apparent resignation, the last thing the master sorcerer would do is make it easy for the Morganians.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Balthazar?<em>

_What the hell . . .?_

_ Just relax—_

_ Every vein in my body is on fire, and you want me to relax?_

_Balthazar—_

_ What the hell do you have to prove, Grigory? And what drug did you have to put in my system to get in my head without my magic?_

_ You're still not all there, Balthazar. I could get in your head, but the drugs are there to allow you to interact with me._

_ To what purpose?_

_ To implant The Rising, of course. I presume you're not going to learn it willingly. This way, the words will just fall from your lips. You don't even have to think about it; in fact, I'd rather you not. You'll sound more sincere that way._

_ Just don't have me writhing around like some two-bit stripper, the way Morgana forced Veronica to do it. Quite undignified._

_ You'll still be chained, Balthazar, not that anyone will see them. Overt writhing will be quite impossible. However, if you insist on resisting, writhing in pain is nearly guaranteed._

_ As opposed to the lap of luxury I've been in since meeting your acquaintance?_

_ I extended a sincere invitation through Nephrene, and you rejected it._

_ There is no such thing as a sincere Morganian invitation. And you still would have me die at the end of it._

_ The invitation was to become a Morganian; you knew that. Of course we can't let a Merlinean live._

_ You don't even let Morganians live._

_ If you want to live, Balthazar, all you have to do is turn. No Morganian would kill you, then. We respect you as an enemy; we'd idolize you as one of us._

_ I think Horvath would be an exception._

_ Maxim Horvath is a stepping stone. He failed Morgana, because he couldn't see past his grudge with you. It's actually quite fun to watch him stalk you. You've become his singular obsession, especially now that Veronica_ Gorloisen_ is gone. We gave him a new castor, since you and your apprentice stole his, but he will meet his demise after we let him kill you._

_ Why does this not surprise me?_

_ And just where is this Prime Merlinean, now?_

_ I sent him away. This is pathetic, and he's too important to die in a grudge match between Horvath and I._

_ The Rising isn't pathetic, Balthazar._

_ The Rising will never happen, Grigory._

_ Then you will die._

_ I will die, anyway. After 1500 years, do you honestly think I care?_

_ You are wrong on both counts, Balthazar: The _Rising_ WILL happen, and I think you DO care. There is always something to live for, Balthazar._

_ Then get on with it, Grigory: Prove what you feel you must. I've never heard of you before this, but you've certainly chosen the best way to make your presence known to everyone. So make me care. Make me do The Rising. But I'm through discussing it. You're in my head; you've boiled my veins. Unless you make me coherent on the outside, you'll never hear another word from me that isn't in Latin._

_ Balthazar? Balthazar!_

* * *

><p>"It happens tonight," Grigory informed Nephrene once he was out of his trance. "We're not going to let him build up any more resistance."<p>

"Balthazar's head is a dangerous place," she knew.

"If you still desire him physically, you have my permission to make it happen, but keep his mind shut down."

"Thank you."

"And if he _does_ happen to say anything that isn't in Latin, I want you to notify me immediately."

"Of course."


	8. Chapter 8

Balthazar Blake's eyes were highly changeable, depending on his mood, the colors that surrounded him, or variations in light. They ranged anywhere from an intense blue, to a soft, muted green, to somewhere in between, including a bright aqua. Now, though, the irises were light; half blue, and half green, just one odd side effect of the mind-altering drugs that were now being administered through an I.V. line dripping into his right wrist. It was almost like he was paralyzed again, though he actually could move, well, at least as much as the chains and shackles let him. But, he wasn't speaking, and he wasn't really acknowledging anyone, anymore, his odd-colored eyes focused somewhere off in the distance, head tilted slightly to his left.

"Balthazar?" There was nothing overtly wrong, as Nephrene pushed aside the oxygen mask. His breathing was somewhat more audible than normal, but it wasn't exactly strained, and the readings were good. "Everything's going to be alright, Balthazar." She had no business telling him such a lie, and normally he would've called her on it, but he wasn't in anywhere near a normal state. She kissed him carefully, then, trying to get some kind of reaction. He didn't fight it, but he wasn't exactly kissing her back, either. And he was still looking off to the side, almost as if he could see Veronica somewhere over there. Maybe he could. Nephrene knew she shouldn't be puzzled by his state, but she just couldn't help it. Normally, she repulsed him, apparently, but now this was a 180, and he wasn't even acknowledging her. Too bad there wasn't something she could give him to make him embrace her. Viagra would make something else work, but maybe, hopefully, he wasn't _that_ far gone.

He wasn't, and he shivered slightly as she opened the tight, faded jeans he had on, an odd choice for this sorcerer. They'd have him in much classier clothes for The Rising; after all, they were going to film it, and they wanted him in all his Merlinean glory: Balthazar's confiscated 'jewelry' was being cleaned, and would be given back to him just before, and his right hand's adornments would be polished of at least the blood once the restraining glove was removed. There was still a debate on about whether to hide or show the shackles: They'd probably show half, maybe the wrist and neck ones. If the Morganians could capture this particular Merlinean bastion, and force him to do The Rising, no other Merlinean stood a chance.

"I need you to relax, Balthazar," she said softly, now, kneeling between his spread legs on the bed, having pushed aside the covers, pulling the jeans and black thong down just far enough. No amount of drugs had changed his tense posture, and she wondered if his stiff manhood was the reason. He'd just been with Drake, Abigail, and a Horvath'd Veronica a few days back, so it wasn't like he'd been deprived for 1300 years; or maybe he had, and that just hadn't been enough. He was definitely reacting to having his length in her mouth, but he still wasn't looking at her. In fact, it almost looked like he was shaking his head, it rolling slightly from side to side as his breathing sped up with his pounding heart. His hands clenched into fists just before he came, and he damn near pushed out the I.V. with the pressure, his entire body shuddering for about a minute before tightening up again. "Damn."

"Can you look at me, Balthazar?" Nephrene was kissing him again, but any reaction seemed to almost be a reflex, just to keep from suffocating, the only need evident being the need to breathe. No need, no want, no acknowledgment. Sure, he was hard again, but it's not like he'd gone that soft to begin with. Apparently, it had been too long, and he was tense for a damn good reason. His eyes were nearly closed, now, and a few tears slid down his face, and she wiped them gently away. He looked up suddenly, almost straight at her, but his gaze was glassy, and more through her than at her, and she almost wished he'd look to the side again. What a waste, that he was going to let himself die over this. Fifteen hundred years or not; it just didn't seem possible. Balthazar had such an elegant, earthy air about him, and an honesty that was downright scary. It seemed so wrong to have him die, now, after surviving so much for so long. Nephrene lowered herself onto him carefully, like he was an ancient antique that could so easily break, but she knew she would probably break before he did. His eyes fluttered closed before he came again, and then they stayed closed as he finally fell asleep, a few more tears escaping. He sighed a little before he was completely out, and she managed to smile, replacing the oxygen mask and laying fully on him for a while. They still had some time before she had to get him cleaned up for his first and only performance of The Rising.

* * *

><p>"I think it's going down tonight, luv," Drake pointed out suddenly, looking over at Battery Park. Stutler'd been studying both Encantuses, but arose instantly at the illusionist's words. Both tomes had Nephrene, but not whom she might be working for, and he was endlessly frustrated. Drake had never left, wanting to offer some encouragement and companionship to the obviously distraught boy, who nevertheless didn't give the true depth of his feelings for his master away.<p>

"They're setting up video cameras?" he asked in shock.

"And they're shielded; no civilian can see any of what we can."

"As soon as they bring him out, I want to go down there."

"It'll be hours, luv," Drake stated. "It's still afternoon."

"I don't care; I'm not leaving this window. Balthazar says it only takes about five minutes to perform, and he knows they're going to kill him immediately after."

"I'll be back in an hour or so," the other informed him, now. "I'm going to see if I can muck up the satellite dishes."

"Do you have your cell phone?"

"I do."

"Be careful."

"Eat something, luv. Your master got you this beautiful hotel room; don't let his generosity go to waste." The tactic worked: Stutler picked up the phone to call room service, although he didn't leave the window.

"Do you want anything?" he asked the other as the door was hovered by.

"Surprise me," was Drake's reply before he finally left.

* * *

><p>The I.V. had to be removed before he was brought to the showers, so Balthazar was going to be heavily guarded from that point on. Horvath didn't think Stutler would abandon his master so easily, for one thing, despite Grigory having told him that Blake said he'd sent him away for his own protection. The two henchmen were heavily armed, but were not to shoot Blake unless specifically ordered, as Horvath was still scheduled to kill him. Nephrene, of course, would be the closest to him, and her medical bag was well stocked, so she could do whatever Grigory felt was necessary.<p>

"Did you have your way with him?" Grigory asked now, as he and Nephrene assisted the two men in walking the chained sorcerer to the showers, a painfully slow process, especially since his knees were locked straight.

"I did," she nodded.

"And, how was he?" he persisted.

"Much like he is now: Fully functional, but not really there."

"Robotic," was the conclusion.

"Yes."

"And, not a word?"

"Not a word. Just a sigh, and some tears."

"The tears concern me, Nephrene."

"His eyes have gone quite strange . . . It could just be from the strain."

"Show me," he insisted, stopping the trek, standing in front of Balthazar and grasping his shoulders. Nephrene tilted his head back slightly, shining the penlight in his eyes, making him flinch slightly, the eyes tearing again. "Interesting," Grigory hummed, somewhat satisfied, and everyone continued on.

* * *

><p>"No go," Drake said as soon as he was back in the hotel room, barely catching Stutler's attention.<p>

"What do you mean?" he got out tonelessly as the older man's attention turned to the cart full of food.

"The satellites are heavily guarded; looks like a frickin' SWAT team up there."

"So, we'll have to stop it from the ground, then."

"Yes." Then a thought, "We'll have to stop your master, while shielding ourselves from a possible barrage from above."

"I think the buildings are too high for that."

"Possibly." They were both eating slowly, looking down from the window. A stone pillar was in the center of the fountain.

"Jesus," the boy gasped, lowering his fork. "I joked about chains the other day, but they're going to chain him to that pillar."

"That's easy enough to smash," Drake said confidently. "I'd be more worried about the chains, especially if they're enchanted." Stutler looked at him, "And, they weigh a ton."

* * *

><p>The hot water pounding his face nearly snapped him out of it, but the chains were still literally holding him down, and he ended up sitting in the community shower stall, back against the tile, legs straight out, toes nearly touching the other wall. Nephrene had stripped herself and him, and she cleaned him thoroughly from head to heel.<p>

* * *

><p>"Do you really think he'll perform The Rising?" Drake asked suddenly, quietly, almost like he was afraid to pose the question, which, in a way, he was. Balthazar Blake and David Stutler were the Merlinean pinnacles, so it hardly seemed plausible. But that, of course, was the whole point.<p>

"That's the test; isn't it?" the boy replied quietly. "If the Morganians can manage to control my master, they can control anybody."

* * *

><p>"You're so beautiful, Balthazar," Nephrene said softly, he leaning against the wall as he sat on a bench. He was just awake enough to be totally exhausted, everything in front of him completely blurry. It took longer to dry the chains than it did to dry everything else, including his hair, and then she carefully combed the knots and snags out.<p>

"We should cut that mop," Grigory said lightly, amused by her reverence.

"Don't you dare," Nephrene said with more force than she should have. "It suits him."

"No trenchcoat, and no armwarmers," was the order now.

"He'll freeze."

"Then he'll go numb and not feel so much pain when Horvath goes to kill him."

"Fine, then."

"And give him something so his teeth won't chatter; a mild muscle relaxer, maybe."

"Will do," she obeyed, already into her bag for a hypodermic.

"And gas him for the ride over," he added. "He's looking more alert than I'd like."

"Of course."

"Don't forget to put some makeup on him; he's ghastly pale, yet, from Druid, and those circles under his eyes make it look like he's been punched. Camera ready, Nephrene," he sing-songed now, his moment of triumph almost at hand.

"Grigory's lucky I like you, Balthazar," she muttered, now, setting everything up.

* * *

><p>"Once I catch sight of him, I'm probably going to disappear," Stutler warned Drake hours later. "My main goal is to get him the hell away from there."<p>

"I'll be down on the ground as soon as I can. If you haven't destroyed the pillar by then, I will."

"However this goes down, I'll consider us even just because you've tried to help us, Drake." They both knew they were outnumbered, and the illusionist nodded solemnly,

"Hell, if it wasn't for you guys, I wouldn't've lived this long."

* * *

><p>"Comfy, Balthazar?" Grigory smiled down at the enemy sorcerer, he chained to the thick stretcher, fully dressed down to the gleaming rings on his left hand, the right still in the restraining glove. The black pants were new, and just loose enough to hide the shackles on his knees and ankles, and he winced as Nephrene emptied a hypodermic into his shoulder, right through the black silk dress-shirt. "That should relax you nicely; Nephrene says you've been awfully tense." He was expecting Blake to say something through the clear oxygen mask over the mouth and nose, but the Merlinean just looked at him accusingly, squinting suspiciously before yawning as the muscle relaxer hit him. "Nothing to say before your performance?" but Balthazar's head was swimming even before Nephrene changed the tanks from oxygen to halothane, and then he was completely out.<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

It was no coincidence that the bars closed at 2 a.m., and that a plain black van pulled up near the disabled fountain in Battery Park at 2:30, and both Stutler's and Drake's hearts stopped as the back doors opened. More people emerged from that van than seemed humanly possible, and two spotlights from the video cameras centered on the pillar. Balthazar was wheeled unconscious on a stretcher to the pillar, an oxygen mask over his face, and four people, Nephrene included, were transferring him to the pillar. Stutler was already gone, but Drake couldn't help but watch in horror, just knowing the weight of the many chains that were now being padlocked behind the stone. The mask was removed, and so was the restraining glove on Balthazar's right hand, which was covered in dried blood. The hand was cleaned quickly until all the fluid was gone, and the rings shone in the spotlight. Nephrene broke open a packet of smelling salts under his nose, and he flinched violently, awakening as she disappeared. And then he just stood there, the spotlight's white searing light burning in his eyes and to the back of his head, and Drake Stone ran from the hotel room.

Balthazar's head was humming, but he was so distracted by the white blinding light that he couldn't form a coherent thought. He strained against the bonds that held him and ended up coughing, which interrupted the stream of strange words falling from his lips. His head jerked to the left slightly, and he coughed again, which made him turn to the right, and then the searing white light stinging his eyes went to a cool calming green, and it called to him, warm and familiar. A hot blast of fire roared from the stone beneath him, singing his body as it disappeared far over his head, and he felt himself scream before the green called to him again, pulling at him, tugging at his right hand. _His right hand_. He flicked his finger in the direction of one spotlight, and it exploded, raining glass and metal shards everywhere. And then he was yanked backwards, his body engulfed by water as he disappeared into the fountain, the chains holding him down, the half-frozen water soothing his eyes even as the fire underneath flickered out.

Stutler was on his knees in the water, pulling frantically at his master, even as Drake tried to keep Blake's captors from attacking. He'd jammed the guns of the henchmen easily enough, but now the white-haired sorcerer and Abigail Williams were encroaching, and it sounded like the makeshift SWAT teams from the satellites were on their way.

"Tell Balthazar that if he surrenders and finishes what he started, we'll let you and the Prime Merlinean go."

Blake was blind and barely above the water, clinging to Stutler's legs, but he heard enough of Grigory's empty promise to pinpoint his location, and he thrust out his right hand, the ring glowing, making the grass glow under Grigory's feet until the ground gave way, the Morganian screaming as he disappeared into a massive hole. The screaming stopped as the hole filled in, white snow crocuses appearing next to the shaken Salem witch.

"Anyone else?" Balthazar choked out, coughing hoarsely, both Drake and Stutler helping him from the fountain. Everything was deathly quiet, now, save for the rattling of Balthazar's chains, and even the guards from the satellites were no longer approaching, in no small part because their guns had all jammed. "Destroy the cameras and the other spotlights, and tell me where Horvath is," he whispered to the two young men barely holding him up.

"I'm right here, Balthazar."

"Grigory was going to kill you, right after you killed me."

"And?"

"Are you still planning on killing me?"

"I'd rather find out if your newly acquired blindness, drug addiction, and pneumonia does it first; you're no fun to kill right now, Balthazar."

"Very subtle, Maxim." A pause as he coughed again, "You need to get rid of The Rising."

"Why? Apparently, that's all I'm useful for, anymore."

"That's precisely why: Is that all you want to be?"

"You can't trick me out of The Rising, Balthazar," he said darkly.

"We need to break this up before the cops show up," Stutler finally spoke, as Drake destroyed the recording equipment, while still helping hold the man standing. "You did start the Circle, Balthazar, so—"

"You're lucky I'm blinded, Maxim—" he hissed now.

"And you're lucky I'm taking pity on you, Balthazar," he snarled back.

"Until next time, then," he got out through gritted teeth, as the three started to move away.

"And what of Nephrene?" Horvath sneered, now, and Blake stopped abruptly:

"She's a Morganian, Maxim. She's yours by default. Don't try to make more out of what occurred than necessary. You know better than that." He sighed heavily now, which made him cough again. "Anything _else_?" he asked impatiently, and Stutler's hands tightened on him.

"Let's _go_," the boy ordered, opening the back doors of the medium blue van. The whole floor was a bed, and Stutler ended up laying beside Balthazar on it, trying to figure out how to release him from the chains.

"You two are _soaked_," Drake commented as he closed the driver's door, turning the heat on full blast. "Where do you want to go?"

"Well, definitely _not_ the hospital," Stutler cracked, Balthazar managing a weak smile at him. "And not the turnaround." The chains themselves were falling off, but the actual shackles weren't budging.

"And I've seen enough of Battery Park for a while," the illusionist commented. "We're going back to my place," he informed the two. "The hot tub I have'll hold six people, as opposed to that little Jacuzzi in your hotel."

"You'll have to keep me from drowning, _again_, then," Balthazar said weakly. "The last thing Nephrene shot me up with was a muscle relaxer, to keep my teeth from chattering." He had his head inclined towards his apprentice, whose own teeth were rattling, and he smiled again.

"What's wrong with your knees?" Drake wondered as he and Stutler got Balthazar into the elevator in the parking garage minutes later.

"They're shackled straight, I presume so they couldn't buckle."

"The shackles must be enchanted, because they're not coming off," Stutler managed as he shivered, the three huddling together.

"I can live with them a while longer," Balthazar shrugged, now. "We need to get warm, and rested, and then the three of us should have no trouble with them in the morning."

"I'll take you two right to the hot tub," Drake said as he opened the main door of the penthouse, helping them through the large space and out to a covered atrium. The hot tub was already bubbling and steaming. "Strip down to your boxers, and hop in," the illusionist instructed before leaving them. "I'll be a while."

"Thank you," the two Merlineans managed to get out at the same time, the younger looking at the elder in shock at the synchronicity.

"You're very welcome, luvs," Drake half-laughed as he left the space.

"Why can't we just get in naked?" Dave wondered, already unbuttoning his master's vest. Balthazar's hands went to find his, but he pushed past them anxiously, unbuttoning the shirt.

"I'm sure Drake wouldn't care, but this isn't a romantic rendezvous, Dave."

"I don't care; we're both freezing to death." It wasn't a lie, and the man was feeling a lot loopier than he was acting, as well, palms pressing on the boy's shoulders, mostly to keep himself upright, though he ended up pushing off the hoody and jacket in the process. He slid them down off his apprentice's arms as he felt himself droop forward, the young mouth catching his, arms tight around him as Dave ended up leaning back against the body of the hot tub. "Please don't pass out," Stutler pleaded now in a half-sob. "I just got you back."

* * *

><p>"He's got no color, in his eyes, or anywhere else," Drake was observing, his face close to the man's as he peered at him carefully. The two youngsters had him propped up between them in the massaging hot water, but he couldn't see any more awake than he could when he was out.<p>

"What the hell did they do to you?" Dave was demanding, fingers wiping at his face. "Why are you wearing makeup?" Balthazar shook his head slightly, unable to make his mouth move to answer. His heart was pounding again suddenly, and the shackle felt unbearably tight around his neck. "_Balthazar_?" And then he was thrashing in the water, the two struggling to hold onto him. "I think we need to get him out of here," the boy said through white lips.

* * *

><p>"I hate to say it, luv, but he's writhing around like a drug addict who ain't had any in a few days."<p>

"That's what Horvath said." Stutler was sitting in an ornate silver chair next to the black king-size four-poster bed, and he was beyond upset. Drake had brought up the pair's two suitcases of clothes from the Phantom-Mercedes-Civic-Pinto-Civic-blue van, and the boy was clean and dry and dressed and warm and perfectly fine, now. But the man was not. Oh, he was clean and dry and warm, finally, a fireplace roaring just feet from the bed that he was bundled in, topped by a red satin comforter. If anything, Balthazar was now feverish, and ridiculously restless, rolling around in the bed like a yo-yo, his unseeing eyes not completely closed and blinking almost spasmodically. His ring had a constant faint glow, as well, apparently trying to help him fight off whatever was making him act so strange. Dave and Drake had finally managed to free him of all the shackles, but now he had ugly black friction burn rings everywhere they had been, a disturbing testament as to just how long the binds had been on the sorcerer.

"We may want to blindfold him, if any kind of light is straining his eyes."

"Maybe we should; they're seriously creeping me out, anyway, the way he's doing that. It can't be good."

"I've made some broth for him, as well," the illusionist offered, entering the room with a tray. "You should get in the bed with him, and help him sit up. Even if he's delirious, you should be familiar enough."

"Good idea," the boy said, almost too enthusiastically. He hadn't put his shoes back on, and got in the bed immediately, reaching for Balthazar. The man started at his touch, but didn't fight being pulled to a sitting position against the leather headboard and the boy, almost sinking against him, obviously exhausted, though still trembling in constant movement. "If anything, he's too warm," Dave frowned as Drake handed him the cup of broth, tilting it to the man's full, if somewhat chapped, lips. He took a sip or two, then shook his head slightly, coughing softly, and Dave handed the cup back: "Maybe just water would be better." Within seconds, Drake had handed over a cup of water, and a thermometer strip, which was smoothed over the hot forehead. Balthazar definitely took to the warm water better, drinking nearly three whole cups full, which was encouraging since his temperature was 104. "What are you trying to accomplish in there?" the boy asked him directly, now, trying to see into the unnaturally crystalloid eyes, but all he could see was that they were completely bloodshot. "I don't like this at all," he muttered.

"The blindfold, then, luv?" Drake offered, leaving a crystal mug and water pitcher on the tray on the large nightstand.

"Definitely," he nodded, taking the long, inky black cloth. "They look so painful."

"Wrap it around twice, then seal it with magic," the young man instructed. "No light will get through, and he won't end up laying on a knot. He doesn't need a headache on top of everything else."

"Easy," Dave soothed as Balthazar visibly tensed up, and the ring went brighter, as if to fend off an attack, but then dimmed back down as he seemed to understand, and relaxed further into the boy's side.

"The poor thing," Drake said sadly, now, in observation. "They must've really done a number on him, to make him shut down like this."

"I was surprised when he buried that sorcerer, but I think I'm beginning to understand why he did it."

"Merlineans aren't big on killing, as a rule, but every rule has its exceptions."

"Yes."

"You should stay in the bed with him," he advised now. "He's comfortable with you." A sad pause, "I'm probably just annoying him, so I'll leave you two be. Use the intercom if you need me."

"You're a prince, Drake, really," Stutler assured him in gratitude, he winking as he left, quietly shutting the door. "I hate how this holds your hair down," he said, referring to the blindfold, reaching over and pulling a handful of strands over the top of it. There was no sign of protest at the action, so Dave did it a few times, ending up with very little hair trapped under the tie. "I miss your eyes already," he whispered, touching the chalky pale face just below the blindfold. "And why are you so pale, now?" Balthazar shuddered, shaking his head slightly, sinking further back against the headboard, slumping somewhat. "Do you want to lay back down?" but the man was already sliding back down under the covers, his left hand grasping the boy's thigh, seemingly to control his descent. And then he stopped, and his hand moved down against the jeans' inseam.

Dave's breath caught so audibly that to him it seemed to be the loudest sound in the dim room, but actually, the crackling fireplace was louder. He had no idea if Balthazar was aware of it or not, but the man's body was suddenly turned on its side, and the right hand had taken the place of the left hand, although both hands were now on the boy's thigh, and he no longer knew who was trembling harder. The right hand moved up somewhat, and Dave tensed, pushing his back harder against the headboard, as if by moving further back he could continue to hide his true feelings from the man. Balthazar had been having a difficult enough time with the boy's love for him as it was; how the hell would it affect him, now?

"I really don't think you want to go there," Dave said shakily, even as the other's face edged closer to his, the heat and electricity from his aura invading the boy's. Jesus, this man was intoxicating, even when he didn't seem to be all there. Stutler knew he should pull away, because this was so wrong on so many levels. Would Balthazar even remember this later, when he was back to 'normal'? Would doing this snap him back, or push him further out? Would he even come back, at all? Would this be Dave's only chance to actually, maybe 'be' with him? Balthazar's lips gave a hint of a smile, almost as if he could sense the turmoil of his apprentice. And then the boy finally thought to say what he should have said when he first saw his master in this state: "I love you, Balthazar." If it wasn't for the blindfold, Stutler would've thought that the man had winced. Hard. The hands left his thigh and the fingertips pressed into the man's own temples as if trying to fight off a headache, or voices, or . . . his conscience. "Balthazar."

"_No_." That could have meant just about anything, but the boy naturally took it the worst possible way, at the same time just being so relieved that his master was back, and it set him off; he couldn't help it:

"I don't care! Just _stop_ leaving me!" He slid down onto his side under the covers, grasping the strong shoulders. "I hate when you act like you're okay when you're not . . . I hate it so much, Balthazar. And then you pass out, or tune out, or phase out, and I _can't_ find you."

"I can't help when I'm sick, Dave, and I _can't_ fall down in front of my enemies." His hands were on the boy's shoulders, now, "I'm not doing it on purpose to hurt you, David."

"Promise?"

"I promise," he said softly, the boy wrapping around him in response, obviously afraid he was going to disappear again. Not surprisingly, the questions started immediately:

"What's wrong with your eyes?"

"Some of the drugs they gave me altered them, and the spotlights made it worse, and blinded me. Hopefully, they'll come back soon."

"Horvath called you a drug addict."

"They gave me a ton of stuff, Dave, but I'm not technically a 'drug addict'. It's complicated, but I may have side effects for a long time, while everything works its way through my system."

"How come you're so pale?" The pause was so long Dave nearly regretted asking the question, but Balthazar finally sighed it out:

"Horvath actually caught me with one of his daggers. He put a paralyzing agent on it, and stuck it precisely in my neck." He touched the scar on the right side, and the boy peered at it. "As long as it was there, I couldn't move. Grigory, the sorcerer I buried, would normally let the dagger be removed and just let it bleed out, but he didn't want a mess. He sicced a vampire named Druid on me, and he took too much blood, so I'm really pale and weak, my heart pounds, and I have trouble breathing. Between that, and the weight of the irons, I nearly died. Since that wasn't the plan, it didn't happen."

"Horvath mentioned pneumonia."

"That's because of me nearly drowning in the fountain in late Winter. I'm coughing a bit, but that's more wishful thinking on his part, than reality."

"They really underestimated you; didn't they?"

"The most fatal flaw I can see is that a sorcerer can't perform The Rising without their power. They shut my power down until just before, but they had to give it back. I've had my ring for 1500 years, Dave. I was so drugged and controlled that I started The Rising, but the ring took over. They used the spotlights to blind me with that white light, but then all I saw was the green of my ring, even when I couldn't see at all. I don't think Grigory had a lot of spectators because of that. They mocked Horvath's plan, but it was better than Grigory's."

"You killed Grigory."

"Grigory was an unknown, upstart, and show off. I never heard of him before. He understood my power, and my position, and went after me, anyway. He had some interesting arguments; I'll give him that. I knew the Morganians would go after me because of Veronica; that didn't make it any easier to deal with. Morganians think that Merlineans are weak and gullible, and we're nothing like that. We kill only when necessary, not because we don't like you. I'm 1500 years old, and I get very tired of being underestimated, as you said before. When I killed Grigory, everyone went into shock, so I proved my point very effectively. Sometimes you just have to remind everyone that you're not to be messed with." Stutler obviously had no more questions, 'cause he was so quiet, now, that Balthazar could barely hear him breathing. "If that bothers you, I'm sorry, David."

"That doesn't bother me, Balthazar," he answered softly. "I think he deserved it." A pause, "You're a mess, Balthazar."

"I'll be fine, Dave, eventually . . . as usual," he added with a smirk. "I just really need some rest right now, because my system's all out of whack."

"Just sleep, then, Balthazar, before you disappear again some other way." _Sleep, before you're too far gone_.


End file.
